


We Do What Must Be Done

by ladyamesindy



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Battlefield Violence, Blood, Death, F/M, Injury, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-25 08:14:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 73,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3803224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyamesindy/pseuds/ladyamesindy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knows the story of Warden Cousland, Hero of Ferelden. But what of the parents? Herein lies the tale of how a young nobleman, the future Teyrn of Highever, struggles with his duty and service to king and country under the ever watchful eyes of the oppressor while falling in love with a young noblewoman who helps him find his way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea that came to me while I played my first Cousland Warden through the game. In 2010, I found inspiration to write it and published it on another site. Since then, I'd wanted to make a few revisions/edits and add in a few other things that I thought of afterwards. This is the revised version of Bryce and Eleanor's tale, version 2.0 if you like. As before, I'm using the generic Cousland family names: Bryce, Eleanor, Fergus and Elissa, though it isn't meant to tie in with any one particular story that I've already written. (If you follow Ever Constant, I have referenced this story in there, too) I've taken a lot of liberties in this story since so little information exists on the parentage of Bryce and Eleanor, siblings, etc.; their previous relationship with Nan; the location of The Battle of White River ... All I can say is thank goodness for vagueness! A writer's dream!

She wandered through the halls with purpose, steps firm as servants and soldiers alike ducked quickly to the side out of her way.  She was on a mission of relative importance.  Turning to her right and then immediately to her left, Nan paused, her steps slowing and taking on a more stealthy quality.  The door to the study was open and she slipped quietly inside.  There, she found her target, Teyrna Eleanor Cousland seated in a chair near the hearth reading as was her wont of an afternoon. With a small smirk of mischief evident upon her face, Nan stepped softly, until she was mere feet away. Eleanor's dark head rose only slightly from the book she was reading as she began the top of the next page. "Yes, Nan?" she asked, though the other woman was standing behind her.

Nan chuckled good naturedly. "Maker's Breath! I give!" she replied, walking around the chair. "Far be it from me to try and surprise you anymore!"

Eleanor chuckled along with her friend. There were times when Nan could remind her of how things _used_ to be.  Sitting straighter, Eleanor asked, "Did you need something?"

Nan nodded. "The children.  They are in the nursery asking for you. They want another 'story' about you and their father. About how you met."

Eleanor tried to hide a smirk, but she was able to tell from Nan's raised eyebrow that she had failed miserably. Sighing, she rose and straightened the skirt of her dress. "Right then, mustn’t keep them waiting. The nursery you say?"

Nan nodded as they exited the study. "Your son is in quite a mood today, I must warn you," she said as they walked in tandem in the direction of the family apartments in Highever Castle. "He's all about playing 'kill the Orlesians'."

Eleanor rolled her eyes. "Maker’s Breath!  As if we haven't had enough of that over the years!" she muttered beneath her breath. She heard Nan's chuckle again and added, "Oh, do be quiet, will you?"

Nan knew better than to take the words to heart. She and Eleanor had been friends for a long time - a _lifetime_ \- and she suspected that it would remain so until one of them passed.  

When they reached the nursery, Nan opened the door and gestured Eleanor inside where the two women found nine-year-old Fergus and three-year-old Elissa playing. A servant who had been watching the two quickly left the room, obviously pleased at being relieved of her watch duty. Eleanor smiled gently at the young woman, Sarah she thought her name was, and suspected that a bit of "hazard pay" might be in order for what she must have endured during her short tenure as babysitter.

Turning her attention back to her children, Eleanor found Fergus chasing Elissa around the room, armed with a toy shield and sword, just like his father's. She smiled at the sight of the boy who looked so much like his father. Walking into the room, she seated herself in the corner where cushions were laid out and a shelf of books was within easy arm's reach. "So," she commented, her voice raised slightly to catch her rambunctious son's attention, "I hear someone is wanting a story?"

Fergus came to a halt quite suddenly, sword and shield falling to the floor in a loud clatter before he turned and bounded over to his mother's side where he plopped down right next to her. Little Elissa finally followed when she realized her brother had decided to quit tormenting her.

"Now, then," Eleanor began, adjusting her position against the cushions and pulling her children close, "I hear you want a story about how your father and I met?"

Fergus nodded, his hair tumbling about his face. "I wanna hear how Papa killed Orlesians!" he added.

"Your mother killed Orlesians too, don't forget that, young man," Nan announced from her position near the doorway. "Did you not, my lady?"

Eleanor gave her friend a dark look, but said nothing.

Elissa turned her large eyes up to her mother and simply said, "Story!"

Eleanor smiled and began ….

 


	2. White River

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As there is hardly any information available on the Battle of White River other than to say that Bryce Cousland fought in it during the Rebellion with Arl Leonas Bryland and Arl Rendon Howe, I have taken the liberty of declaring one of the unnamed rivers on the Ferelden map - the one that starts just south of Denerim and runs south through the Brecilian Forest, Gwaren and the Southron Hills as the White River. Should this ever officially change, I will adjust the story accordingly.

_ 8:99 Blessed _

_The White River._   

As rivers in Ferelden went, the White was not such a grand one.  Beginning south of Denerim and continuing on in that direction, it snaked its way through the Brecilian Forest, Gwaren and Southron Hills until finally branching out into multiple stems east of the Korcari Wilds, most of which ended up as feeder streams leading into the Frozen Seas.  It had length, and in some areas the geography allowed it to have a fierceness it might otherwise not have contained, but overall it was about as general and ordinary as a body of water could be.  Ultimately, it would be the battle that gave it any relative substance.  A footnote to history that future generations could read about, no matter who the victor was, and still come away with lessons learned.  Only then would the name have more value.  Weight.  Purpose.  But that would come with time.

The day of battle dawned sluggishly.  Overcast skies scattered with thick, dark clouds building in the north; slow rollers sinking low to the ground and ghosting southward as the day wore on so that they looked as if they might blot out the entire sky.  If only because of the fascination he felt pulling him at the sight, he should have realized that it was an omen of sorts.  

Hindsight could and likely would tear viciously at memories like these.

The full nature of the scene surrounding them settled uneasily upon the troops as they waited.  At best, the mood of the rebel forces could be described as grim; most were well aware that if they had the same kind of “luck” that Maric had achieved at West Hill the chances of successfully defeating the Orlesians in this place would be next to impossible.  But what else was there to do?  The battlefield was set, the time was close at hand.

_It comes down to this.  If we win here, we gain momentum and begin to drive them from Ferelden forever ….  It has to start somewhere, ANYwhere.  If we don’t succeed, then we will be their slaves for all eternity …._

Bryce Cousland shook his head in an effort to remove such thoughts, edges of reddish brown hair falling into his sea-blue eyes.  Elder son of Malcolm Cousland, Teyrn of Highever, he knew he should be setting a better example for their soldiers.  As he surveyed the battlefield, taking in everything: the troop placements, the conditions of the ground as well as the weather, he felt the cold tentacles of impending doom trying to grasp and take hold of him.  It was not difficult to miss the overwhelming sense that something was terribly wrong.  This was more than an omen, more than the weather or moods or whatever else one might call it.  Scanning the field of soldiers now, he searched for and soon found his target.  His younger brother, Iain, looking back up at him expectantly for something.  Reassurance?  Hope?   _Some_ thing that would indicate that this battle would be _the_ one to change the face of Ferelden as they both hoped and prayed and had discussed at length time and time again even as recently as last night … or at the very least it should send the Orlesians home worrying at what would come next.  And yet in that moment, Bryce had little he could offer but a nod and what he hoped was a smile of encouragement, and hoped that it would suffice.

_I wish Maric were here_ , Bryce thought.  Though, even he understood that so soon after the defeat at West Hill the physical presence of the prince would provide little in the way of inspiration for these men.  Then again, the man was the heir to the throne of Ferelden and one for whom any of the soldiers under his command would lay down their lives.   _Maric should be here, if only as a figurehead providing added reassurance …._

Bryce continued to survey the area, searching through the troop-filled field below and saw nothing even remotely suggesting the men were … inspired.  Bryce winced. Iain would lead Highever’s contingent, the men their father had spared to fight in the rebellion.  Yet, in the grand scheme of things, it did not seem to account for much.  That, and the fact it had to be kept secret.  Though rumors abounded across the land of the Teyrn openly supporting the rebellion, King Meghren had no absolute proof that the nobleman was openly defying his rule.

_If only we could fight in the open!_ Bryce thought.   _Full fledged battles instead of skirmishes.  If we could have brought more men from Highever, if I could be out there with them, even if father could have been here ….  If … if … if …._

Bryce felt his horse prancing nervously beneath his feet.  His father had made him promise to stay in the back, with Arl Leonas Bryland and Arl Rendon Howe and the rear guard in order to keep him out of danger.  After all, Malcolm had argued, Bryce was the future of the Teyrnir.  Though his younger brother was a noble, and intelligent and a capable leader, he was a second son and meant for battle.  Bryce had been groomed to follow in his father’s footsteps.  He had to survive at all costs.  Despite his father’s requirements, Bryce had made sure that he was armed with his sword – the one given to him by his grandfather Fergus before the man’s death two years earlier – and a shield of Highever.  He would not be caught unprepared.  Additionally, he sported heavy chainmail armor, though not in the colors or markings of Highever.  Trained in battle, Bryce understood well enough that no matter the best of intentions, it was quite possible he would have to fight his way out of the battle that was about to take place below, no matter the actual outcome.  If there was even the slightest chance of that, Bryce reasoned, he needed to be armed and armored.

That aside, it did not change the fact Bryce loathed the idea of remaining in the rear of the battle, behind his and Maric’s men.  He was a man of action, a man accustomed to leading troops by example, not sitting in the back and _waiting_ for the battle to happen around him.  He felt like he was betraying their trust.  

Bryce sighed heavily.  He supposed his father was right; after all, the man was getting on in years, and it was always possible that Bryce would have to take over the responsibilities of the Teyrnir sooner rather than later.  He spared another glance at Iain and found the younger man looking up at him one more time.  Their eyes met and caught for a moment.  The look the two exchanged said it all, and Bryce felt his stomach churn.  

_Good-bye …._

His thoughts were interrupted by a hard clap on his shoulder as Rendon Howe, recently Arl of Amaranthine, sidled up beside him.  “Bryce, my friend, we shall be telling stories of this day to our grandchildren as we bounce them on our knees!” he exclaimed, seemingly oblivious to the atmosphere around them.

Bryce muttered, “If we live through the day.”

Howe chuckled.  “I thought you were the optimist!”

Bryce bit his lower lip.  He really wasn’t in the mood for a battle of wits or wills today.  

Another figure joined them.  Bryce glanced to his left to find Arl Leonas Bryland, his father’s longtime friend and current Arl of South Reach, move up next to him.  “We are in position, your Grace,” the Arl announced.  Bryce nodded but sighed inwardly.  The man was old enough to be his father, his grandfather even, yet he focused more on Bryce’s noble status than on experience in battle.  Bryce felt he should be the one honoring the older man with the title, not the other way around.

It began as a stir of the wind; a ripple of sound, the hint of a whisper that began to grow and advance across the field below them. It spread throughout the mass of troops at an amazing speed and caused the hackles on the back of his neck to rise.  Bryce searched for his brother, and found him.  The men standing around the younger Cousland seemed to be acting nervously; shifting their steps, heads turning, a few blades drawn and readied for battle while others waited.   _Nervous about what?_ he wondered. _Highever men are trained for any battle condition_.  Iain’s eyes held despite the disruptions and Bryce attempted to deny the look he found there, clear even across the distance between them.  It went beyond any views of his personal welfare in the battle.   _We will not take the field this day, brother_.  Frowning, Bryce tried to discern the reason.  It was not like Iain to be defeatist.  It was contrary to his nature.  So, why would he …

Interruption of his thoughts came as a thundering rumble, intensifying as it grew closer.  Moments later, the Orlesians arrived on the field, their mounts pawing and prancing and adding to the chaos surrounding their arrival.   _Cavalry._  Bryce flinched, his worst fears realized.  Maker help them, the horses would be their undoing!  

He had no time to spare for such thoughts as moments later, the battle was engaged….

Watching from above, he saw it all unfold.  An unmitigated disaster, as Bryce had feared.  His heart twisted and ached as he watched men before him fall, witnessed Highever’s best as they took the brunt of the attack.  The urge to join the fray was palpable, and his steed seemed to recognize this.  Between the battle below and wrangling his own horse into cooperating, Bryce had his hands full.  From one moment to the next, he lost sight of Iain and knew a moment of panic.  Searching frantically for Iain’s familiar stance - he knew it as well as his own.  Had they not trained together as they’d grown? - and finally spotted it, but by then it was too late.  Bryce knew, without a doubt or hesitation even as grief began to overtake him, that he was now the only heir to Malcolm Cousland.  

Growling in frustration, Bryce forced himself to stay on his horse, to remain in the rear though it went against everything he had been taught about leadership, especially now that Iain had fallen.  He felt as if he was betraying his men, _Betraying their memories more like,_ he added silently as he realized that he was likely the only man from Highever still breathing.

Hundreds of men were lying dead or dying on the field.  Thousands.  “My lord,” Bryce hissed at Arl Bryland, “we must quit the field!  We cannot afford to lose this battle to a man!  We must keep some troops alive to fight with another day!”   _We must come out of this with SOMEthing left with which to aid Maric!_

The elder man shook his head negatively, reluctantly.  Bryce glanced over at his friend.  “Rendon!” he pleaded.  Howe said nothing, simply shaking his head before turning to leave …. Moments later, Bryce saw Howe gathering just a few of his men, enough to provide him with protection, and quitting the field.   _Coward!_ Bryce thought rather ungraciously.   _Saving your own skin before those of your men!_

With a grunt of frustration, Bryce Cousland then turned and did the only thing he could do … he led his horse at full gallop through the field, between the ranks, amongst the men and their enemy and shouted, “Retreat!  Retreat!”  He did not get by unscathed, he realized briefly as he felt a sword connect with his left side, and he was about halfway through the ranks, cutting through a copse of trees that ran along the bank of the White River, about to turn back around when he another hard hit and was knocked from his horse.  Or, more accurately he realized as he landed with a jolt, his horse was hit and threw him, causing Bryce to land hard, knocking his head against a tree trunk in a blow that stunned him and made his head spin as he had not been wearing a helm.   _Arms and armor … and you forget the one piece that could have saved your hide today_ , he chided himself.

Struggling, the young warrior managed to get to his feet and stumble precariously further into the woods.  He could hear the sounds of the Orlesian chevaliers as they continued to swarm around the field … he looked out through hazy vision and saw a few stragglers of the Rebellion’s troops turning to flee.  More often than not though, they were cut down before they could make it more than ten yards.  Groaning in pain, humiliation and utter defeat, Bryce collapsed into some of the thick underbrush, oblivious anymore to what went on around him.


	3. Lost and Found

The field was quiet save for the sounds of dying soldiers and flies buzzing around those already passed from this world.  An eerie silence settled about the battlefield, emphasized and enhanced by a fog that slithered around the area giving glimpses of the carnage only to fold itself back around and change to views of grass, wildflowers and trees.  The rush of the White River casually running its course nearby added to the atmosphere all while giving no hint to the devastation so near its banks.  

Eleanor Muir and her companion stood at the top of the hill, staring down at the field below, disgust and above all else anger at such a waste of life coursing through her.   _Why?_ she wondered.   _Why must they go about it in such a way?  Why can they not simply get together, a representative on each side and either duel it out or play a game of chess or …._

“My lady?”

Eleanor was startled from her reveries.  Soft laughter, ironic rather than amused, echoed around them as she half turned towards her companion.  “Sorry, Nan,” she murmured, tamping back the grief that could so easily spiral towards hysteria.

Nan Campbell took a step closer.  “Ellie,” she murmured, taking advantage of their longstanding friendship, “we must hurry.  You are a fool to think the Orlesians are gone for good!  If they find us here when they return ….”

Eleanor pursed her lips as Nan used the hated nickname - only one other had permission to use it - but it pulled her from her thoughts as it was intended to do.  “We must go through the field, look for any survivors,” Eleanor insisted.   _We must find Edward’s body!_  She knew it was too late for her brother.  Edward died early on in the battle; Eleanor knew it.  Accepted it.  She had, in fact, come to the battlefield so soon afterwards specifically to look for him, to bring him home, but though they had been through much of the battlefield so far, but no sign of his body had been found as of yet, and Nan was right: time was running out.  Turning to Nan, she said, “Let’s mount up.  We can move more quickly through the rest of the field on horseback.”

Nan nodded her agreement.  “Right.”

Both women were dressed in leather armor, armed each with a pair of daggers and bow.  They quickly mounted their respective horses and started down the hill onto the field below.  Slowly, carefully they picked their way through the mass of bodies, most of whom belonged to the rebel forces.  

_Such a bloody waste!_ Eleanor thought again, the anger surging forward once more.

It was Nan who found the body of Eleanor’s twin, to the far left of the battlefield near the river.  From the look of things, Edward had not died immediately, evidence indicating he had crawled away from the field and leaving a trail of blood in his wake.  They found him seated, his back against a tree.  He looked relatively peaceful, almost as if he was simply sleeping, but Eleanor knew better.  Dismounting her horse, she approached quietly, respectfully.  Taking a knee beside beside her twin, she reached out and lifted the visor of his helm so that she could see his face….  Inhaling deeply, Eleanor rose to her feet, turning towards Nan.  “Do you think we could lift him onto your horse?” she asked tightly.

Nan nodded, signs of her distress in the way her eyes blinked rapidly.  “I think so.  You get his right side, I’ll get the left.  Griffon should stand still if I ask him.”

Eleanor couldn’t help a slight laugh, though it sounded dangerously close to hysterical.  “I still can’t believe you named the animal ‘Griffon’!” she muttered, reaching beneath her brother’s arm.

Nan smiled over at her friend.  “And why not?  He is grey, isn’t he?  What else would you name a grey horse but after a Grey Warden’s griffon?”  As she had intended when mentioning the animal’s name, the banter between the two women seemed to be easing Eleanor through the painful moment.  The time for grieving could come later.  Carefully, they struggled to get Edward’s body beside the animal.  “Stand, Griffon,” Nan ordered and the horse responded.

It was a bit of a struggle, but thankfully, it was only a couple of moments before Edward was lying across the back of the animal, belly down.  Nan carefully mounted the animal in front of him.  “My lady, I think –“

In that moment, both women heard a ragged groan from the nearby underbrush.  The sound startled Griffon, and it was all Nan could do to keep the animal under control and not lose her burden.  Eleanor gestured up to her friend to remain silent while reaching for her daggers.  She was a fully trained warrior, though her preference was her bow.  However, for close combat situations, she opted for daggers instead of swords, relying on her quickness and agility in place of longer blades.  Either way, she had a quiet confidence in her abilities that she displayed now.  

Cautiously, silently, Eleanor approached the source of the noise.  At first she found nothing but trees and bushes and wondered if she had but heard them moving in the wind.  But, as she stepped further into the wooded area, she tripped over something and dropped her gaze.  Lying at her feet was a sword, partially covered by leaves and thoroughly drenched in blood.  Taking a defensive posture, Eleanor took another careful step forward….  

…. and was startled to find a body, the _living, breathing_ body, of a man with his booted foot sticking out from beneath some of the bushes.  She prodded him, cautiously at first, aware of her surroundings and with her blades at the ready.  When she received no response, she prodded him again, this time using the tip of her dagger at the side of his armored leg.  In a whirlwind of movement, Eleanor suddenly found herself flipped over, lying on her back on the forest floor.  Above her was the body - a man fully armored who held her down and leaning over her.  His face was bloodied by a wound to … she frowned, unable to locate the source of the blood, but it was a head wound of that she had no doubt.  She also noticed that his heavy chainmail had blood on it, near his belly area, and she suspected that there was a wound in that location as well.

“Who-who are you?” the man gasped, pain obvious in his voice.

“Release me and I will tell you,” she told him simply.  Eleanor knew she could overpower him.  She had no concerns on that account, yet she was not sure that she would be able to defend herself from him in combat position even given his injuries.  She took note of his frame – he was much taller than her brother had been, and it seemed, much stronger.  His reddish-brown hair was falling forward into his eyes … eyes that reminded Eleanor of the Waking Sea ….

“I-“ he began, but then lost his battle with consciousness and collapsed. On top of her.

Eleanor felt his weight hit her, felt him crush the air from her lungs but do no real damage otherwise, and after a moment or two, she managed to squirm out from beneath him.  Once she accomplished this, she rose to her feet, struggling to catch her breath.  She was about to turn the man over to his back so she could investigate his injuries when she heard Nan call out, “My lady, please!  I can hear horses!  The Orlesians are approaching!”

Eleanor knew Nan’s hearing was excellent and she only had a matter of moments to decide upon a plan.  Using her foot, she kicked the man in his side.  She heard him groan, indicating he yet lived.  Grunting in frustration, she bent down and rolled him over.  Next, she slapped him hard across the cheek.  “Wake up!” she hissed, slapping him the other direction.  When his eyes opened, she hissed, “The Orlesians are coming.  I assume you were with the rebels?”  She saw him nod.  “Can you stand?  I can get you to safety, but you have to trust me and you have to move.  Now!”

Eleanor watched as he struggled to move.  With her help and between the two of them, he was on his feet within moments.  Slowly, she led him to the edge of the woods and leaned him against a tree.  Nan was there, still mounted, and holding on to the reigns of Titan, Eleanor’s mount.  “Titan, stay!” Eleanor ordered.  She turned towards the soldier and asked him, “Can you mount on your own?”

He nodded and stumbled forward.  It took three attempts, and in the end a huge shove from Eleanor, but he finally mounted himself behind her saddle.  A second later, Eleanor was in front of him.  Pulling up her reins, she turned Titan towards the north.  

“They are on the other side of the hill!” Nan hissed, edging Griffon around Titan and heading towards the river.  “We need to move … NOW!”

Eleanor nodded and followed her friend.  She felt the stranger’s arms slide around her waist in an effort to hold on.  A moment later, she felt his head drop to her shoulder and she wondered if he had passed out again.  “Maker, give me strength, give me fortitude, give me guidance!” she prayed softly as she urged Titan into a gallop.

 


	4. Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have had the very great fortune to come across another who loves Bryce and Eleanor as much as I do and was willing to draw a picture of them for this fic. Picchar over on tumblr is one of the most delightful people and her style I believe truly lends itself to the fic. I cannot thank her enough!!!!!

Bryce was falling … falling … and landing against something … soft? He struggled to open his eyes, but found he had not the strength to do even that much. He ached in places he didn’t even know a person could ache.  Eyelashes to toenails, wave after wave of pain rolled through his body, tearing him apart and leaving him little to no energy in its wake as a result.  It appeared to him that what little stamina he still had was being spent simply on breathing….

Eleanor and Nan managed to get the injured warrior into the house through the back kitchen entrance. Quickly, before any of the staff returned and became aware, they tripped the door to the secret passageway Eleanor's great-grandfather had insisted upon, and stumbled through. It was dark, but Eleanor knew the way well. Approximately 20 steps down and then 100 paces forward there was a T-crossing. At the crossing, Eleanor turned left. Another fifty paces and she turned right. With a bit more of a struggle, she and Nan managed to lift the dead weight they carried onto the cot that lay there.

Moments later, as Eleanor began feeling for the buckle releases on the man's armor, a soft light appeared. Turning to her friend, she noticed Nan moving forward, two candles lit. One she handed to Eleanor, the other she kept for herself. "Stay," Nan said, turning towards the door. "I will go and stable the horses and find out what your father would have done with Edward."

Eleanor nodded, still struggling with the buckles.  The chill of being beneath the ground was reaching her hands.  "When you come back, will you bring towels, water, poultices, elfroot and some bandages?" she asked.

Nan nodded. "I'll also bring you some food. You need to eat. And clean clothing." She gestured to the severely bloodstained shirt Eleanor currently sported.

Eleanor said nothing as she watched her friend move out of the room at a rapid pace. Seconds later, she turned her attention back to her patient. While she worked, she wondered about this man, his part in the battle, and if he was in any way responsible for her brother's death.

~ n ~

The next time consciousness stalked him, Bryce thought he might be floating … like pieces of driftwood bobbing in the Waking Sea that would sometimes wash up on the shore beneath the cliffs that Castle Cousland was built upon. Floating aimlessly, drifting along on a cloud, or the sea or … well, he couldn't really tell. That wasn't really important right now anyway ….

Eleanor continued to struggle to remove the man's armor so she could begin tending his wounds. She was no stranger to it - had she not helped Edward over the years?  But given the stranger’s dead weight and her concern about jostling him or his injuries too much as she worked made the process that much more difficult.  Finally, she managed to remove the heavy chainmail, thanking the Maker silently that he wasn't in full plate. She used her dagger to slice his padded shirt as well as the linen one beneath that before removing them, too. At long last, she was able to locate the wound on his left side, a deep slice, no doubt from a sword of some sort, but nothing that some elfroot, a couple of health poultices, and some days’ rest couldn't cure.

Eleanor reached for the elfroot and a healing potion. Nan had quietly returned before the armor was fully removed setting the items Eleanor requested nearby, plus food and clothing for Eleanor herself when she was through. Taking the elfroot now, Eleanor placed a leaf in her mouth and began chewing it, breaking the skin of the leaf and allowing the healing properties to be released. After a moment, once she could feel the essence of the leaf against her tongue, she retrieved the leaf from her mouth and did the same with a second, and a third. Finally, she took all three leaves and placed them around the wound, into the wound, and used a bandage to wrap it into place.

Once this was completed, she moved to the man's head. In the forest she had seen blood matted in his auburn hair and suspected he had either been hit by or hit it himself against something. His head tilted to the right as he lay on the cot, and Eleanor was able to see the scrape beneath the matted thickness of his hair. She first used a cloth and some of the warm water to clear the area of blood and dirt.  Next, she retrieved some of the elfroot leaves and processed them as she had the others. This time, though, she placed them into a bowl with some of the water she poured from the pitcher Nan brought. Once the leaves steeped a few minutes, she took one of the clean cloths and set it into the bowl for a moment, allowing the elfroot mixture to soak in. Then, as carefully and gently as she could, Eleanor spent the next half hour washing the wound on the back of the man's head until she was satisfied that the abrasion was thoroughly cleaned out.

_(artwork of Bryce Cousland and Eleanor courtesy of Picchar on tumblr)_

Eleanor rose to her feet, slowly as her legs had stiffened while she knelt beside the cot. Finally, after what seemed like ages, she was upright. She walked over to the table where the remaining items Nan had brought, including some bread and cheese which Eleanor gratefully downed in an effort to soothe her growling stomach. She investigated the clothing and smiled at the everyday work wear that her friend had delivered. Eleanor was known to be a bit of a renegade when it came to making fashion statements. She preferred everyday common clothing to fancy, embellished accoutrement. She had no patience for the frivolous fripperies that other noblewomen tended to sport and call the latest styles.

Smiling to herself, Eleanor took another of the cloths and began washing her body, removing the old, bloodied shirt and pants she had worn on her journey and switching them out for the skirt, blouse and corset. The clothing was muted in color, but she enjoyed the jeweled blues and burgundies that made up the outfit. She was just tying off the lacing on the front of her corset when she heard her patient groan behind her.

Bryce could feel the sharp bite of pain in his side, the back of his head. He felt as if someone had used his body as a practice dummy during training out on his father's practice fields….

 _If I can feel pain,_ he realized after a moment, _then I am alive …._ Finally, after a long struggle, his eyes opened … and he found the face of an angel leaning over him. "Andraste's mercy!" he breathed, struggling to bring his vision into focus. "Andraste herself!"

Eleanor chuckled softly. "Not quite," she replied, reaching for a cup and pouring some water in it for him to drink. She shifted her position until she was at his side, her arm gently but firmly supporting his shoulders so he could sit up and drink without the water running down his chin and chest.

Bryce felt the cool liquid pass his lips as he greedily sucked it in. He could tell he had been out of it for quite a while based simply in his body's reactions. When he pulled back after three cupfuls, he closed his eyes, suddenly weary. _How badly was I injured?_ he wondered. He allowed his lovely vision to lay him back against the pillows. With a heavy sigh, he asked in a voice rough with sleep and pain, "How – how long?"

Eleanor pulled a blanket over him before moving to dish up some broth that Nan had brought with her last delivery. This she brought with her and set aside on a shorter table next to the bed. "Not long," she assured him. "A day maybe."

Bryce's eyes shot open at that. "One day?" he echoed. He bit back a groan as he felt a wave of pain wash through his head, reminding him of the injury he'd received.

“Of which I am aware,” Eleanor clarified before reaching out to wipe his face with a cool cloth. She could feel him tense at the touch before relaxing once more. "Yesterday," she murmured softly, acutely aware that what she was about to tell him would most likely cause him grief, "Orlesian chevaliers defeated rebel forces at White River. Of over eight hundred men in support of the rebellion, very few made it out with their lives."

Bryce could feel the darkness creeping upon him once more, but he refused to give in to it. "How … do you … know?"

Eleanor sat back from him. "I came to White River after the battle ended," she told him in a voice barely audible. "I was looking for my twin brother, Edward, who was fighting with Arl Bryland's forces." She took a deep breath before continuing. "I was here, at our family's estate, when Edward was killed, but I knew the moment he passed. Against my father's wishes, I left with Nan to go in search of my brother. We found his body right before we found you."

Though the light was dim, Bryce saw the pain etched in the woman's features. It suddenly occurred to him then: they were of a kind as each had lost a brother in the battle. "I-I'm … so sorry," he told her sincerely.

They were silent for a time until Eleanor leaned forward to lift him once more. She propped the pillows behind him, aided him in repositioning his ill-used frame into a more comfortable and seated position, then assisted him with the broth. Though they sat in silence, it was one that was companionable. Occasional glances at each other, brushes of fingers, and gentle smiles were exchanged. When Bryce finished the first bowl, Eleanor asked, "Would you like more?"

Bryce carefully shook his head. "Not … just yet," he begged. Though he felt a bit stronger, he knew he had to take things slowly. "Tell me," he said suddenly, "what is your name?"

Eleanor blushed, setting aside the bowl. "I am so sorry!" she told him. Using a hand to brush loose strands of her hair back out of her face, she replied, "I am Eleanor Muir, daughter of Bann Galen Muir and Analynne Mac Tir."

Bryce thought for a moment he'd stopped breathing. Realization that they had much more in common than the mere fact that their brothers had been killed at the same battle hit him like a stone wall. "I am a fool for not realizing it sooner!" he breathed.

Eleanor frowned, confused.  “What do you mean?”  As far as she could remember, she had never met this man before.

Looking up into her emerald gaze, he told her, "I am Bryce Cousland.”  He paused a minute to let that sink in before adding, “Iain's older brother."

Eleanor's entire body froze at the mention of the family name.  Cousland.  "Iain …," she whispered, her eyes locking on his. It was then that she realized his eyes were the same shades of the sea that had so entranced her with Iain and why she had been drawn to them.  "Iain … was he at the battle?”  

Bryce nodded slowly in reluctant confirmation.  “He was leading the Highever contingent.”

Eleanor’s eyes closed tightly for a moment, tears beginning though she struggled to find a way to ask the more important question.  “He … Iain is …  Is he dead then?"  Her eyes opened again to find his.

Bryce nodded sadly. "I am so very sorry," he whispered as she rose from the chair, turned and fled the room leaving him alone in his pain and misery.

~ n ~

Eleanor stumbled through the darkened passages blindly, only her hand against the walls guiding her way.  Around the second turn, she tripped up, falling hard.  The jarring jolt of pain from her knees to her shoulders was nothing compared to that piercing her heart.

“Oh, Iain!”

Arms wrapping around herself, Eleanor was consumed by grief.  Not only had she lost her past at White River in the form of her brother, it seemed, but her intended future as well.  

 _Alone_.  

The word left an ache inside her Eleanor wondered if she would ever be able to outrun.  Always before there had been Edward.  Trusted friend, confidante, partner-in-crime.  With him there were no questions asked, no answers given, just complete confidence between two who had been inseparable since before birth.  Finding Iain had been unexpected, but with Edward’s encouragement, Eleanor agreed to pursue it.  In the process, she discovered someone with whom she thought she could happily share her life through all the trials and tribulations to come.  Another part of herself she had not realized could exist.

Until White River.

Eleanor used the sleeve of her dress to wipe from her cheeks the tracks and traces of tears.  Now was not the time to grieve.  She knew that.  Edward and Iain both might be gone, but Iain’s brother yet lived.  Eleanor knew she had to focus on that.  On him and his survival.  Teyrn Malcolm Cousland had but two living children; now one was gone, and the other in ill health.  Bryce had been at White River and from what Iain had told Eleanor over their brief relationship, like Iain himself, Bryce was fully invested in supporting the Rebellion.  Maric would require all the assistance he could possibly get to defeat the Orlesians.  Eleanor could not in good conscience allow him to lose one in her care that had a chance for survival to continue to help the cause.

Struggling back to her feet, she swiped at her face again, drying all evidence.  Though not a soldier under Maric’s command, she did have knowledge that could help Bryce to survive.  She wanted to be free of the Orlesian occupation as much as they did.  

Eleanor’s breath caught, a fresh wave of pain as visions of Edward and Iain passed before her.   _I have to!_ she told herself.   _I will do what must be done.  Later … I can grieve for their loss later, once we are free._

Her footsteps were near silent, but Bryce must have heard or been listening for them, for when she paused in the entrance to his room, Eleanor found him turned, looking expectantly in her direction.  He opened his mouth to speak, but Eleanor shook her head once, firmly.  She did not - _could_ not - speak of it now.  Maybe later, but not now.  Their eyes met and held, and though she recognized the grief she saw in his and felt an echoing slice through her chest once again, he nodded his understanding and remained silent.  Only then did she move back to his side and reclaim her seat….


	5. The Hunt

The heavy rattle of Eleanor's breathing was an indication of her level of exhaustion. Over several days, she had worked tirelessly to bring the man lying on the bed beside her back to health. While doing so, she had taken to sleeping in the chair that she kept beside his bed, giving her a place to sit while bandaging him or simply speaking to him while he remained unconscious.  Short of having a second bed available, which there was not, it was better than lying on the cold, damp floor.

Pressure, strong and solid, grasping at her shoulder woke Eleanor from a sound sleep.  It gripped tightly for just the briefest of moments to catch her attention before releasing hold immediately. Instinct had Eleanor reaching for the small dagger she always carried in her boot, spinning around to her right out of her chair while bringing both the dagger and her arm up to reach around her assailant's throat.

"M'lady," Nan gasped, allowing her body to relax completely so that she wouldn't be injured accidentally, "Orlesian chevaliers are headed this way. You must flee!"

Eleanor released her friend the moment recognition set in. "How long?" she asked her voice still rough and raspy from her sleep.

Nan shrugged. "Daniel rode in not five minutes ago saying they were about a half hour away. Given that they are Orlesians and not to be trusted … I'd guess half that time in order to get away safely."

Eleanor nodded as she began throwing odds and ends into a nearby canvas backpack. "Saddle Titan for me, please. And one of my father's horses as well. We'll leave in ten minutes. Meet us at the back gate."

Nan nodded and hurried out of the room.

Eleanor leaned over her patient. She was loathe to wake and move him yet, but the Orlesians left her no choice.  She had no doubts they would tear the house apart before being satisfied that Bryce was not here.   _Damn them all to the void!_  "Bryce," she whispered harshly, urgently. She gave his shoulder a harsh shove when he didn’t respond immediately. " _Bryce!_ "

He bolted upwards, dazed and in pain, but instantly aware of his surroundings. It was clear that he was a well trained warrior as he had automatically reached for a weapon beneath his pillow first only to have his hand come away empty. "What is it?" he rasped.

Eleanor handed him his trousers, a linen shirt, a dark traveling cloak and his boots. "We have to leave.  Now!  Chevaliers will be here momentarily," she explained in a rush. "Nan is getting our mounts. We need to hurry and meet her out back."

Bryce bit back a groan as he tried dressing himself. His wounds had not yet completely healed and they pained him, but he managed to dress and, with some assistance from Eleanor, get his boots on and buckled. The armor he would have to leave behind.  Hopefully, it could be replaced once they were out of immediate danger.  "Ready," he finally told her.

"Stay near me," she murmured, placing his hand on her shoulder, "and no matter what happens, remain quiet and do as I say." She blew out the candle then, waited for his hand to tighten on her shoulder, and began leading the way outside.

When they arrived in the yard, Eleanor spotted Nan with the horses. She threw her bags upon Titan and mounted in one quick, smooth motion, noting as she did so that there was yet another bag there.  Knowing Nan, it was likely to be food. She turned to watch Bryce, to make sure he was able to mount his steed, and realized …. "Nan! I told you one of my father's horses!" she hissed angrily.

Nan smiled, holding the bridle as Bryce mounted Griffon. Her one true pleasure in life, she had often told Eleanor, was being able to have the last word in their conversations. "He's the only beast who can keep up with yours and you know it!" Nan hissed back. Her head suddenly shot towards the front of the estate. "Go the back way now… they are here!" She handed the reins to Bryce and swatted the animal's hindquarters with her hand, watching as he took off after Titan. Sending a silent prayer to the Maker for their safety, Nan turned to enter the home.

~ n ~

Eleanor led Bryce through the heavily forested area behind Bann Muir's estate. They traveled slowly, carefully before exiting the wooded area a few hours before dawn. She glanced over at Bryce. "Can you ride?" she asked, knowing he was in pain by the pinched lines at his mouth, his eyes. "Hard? We will need to make quite a distance before making camp this night."

Bryce nodded. There was no choice in this situation. What else could he say? "What is our destination?" he asked before they started off.

"Ultimately, Highever. It will be a long journey, though, and we may be forced to detour quite a bit, but unless we hear differently along the way we must assume your father is safe and well. If we find out otherwise, we can change our plans accordingly."

Bryce nodded again. It sounded a logical enough plan to him, and he knew that he was in no state to argue with her at any rate. "Let's go," he agreed. "We can make the rest of this up as we go along."

~ n ~

And ride hard they did, when they could. As horses were such a rare commodity in Ferelden, even amongst the Orlesian occupiers, Eleanor did not feel they should risk being seen at this early stage. Surely the Orlesians looking for them would be able to determine they fled with assistance of animals, and people would be questioned. Even an innocent observation of, "I remember seeing someone on horseback headed west," could give them away. So they stayed to the trees whenever possible, and headed south.

Eleanor tried to recall everything she and Edward had ever learned about the Southron Hills. Together, their knowledge had been encyclopedic: a collection of information from a wide variety of sources that could challenge anyone. Though their knowledge was made up with but pieces of information, it had been Edward who provided the more vital bits, and Eleanor who would put the puzzle together to form a complete picture. Without him, however, Eleanor was on her own, relying only on her own memories.

It was well after dark when Eleanor finally decided that they had traveled a safe enough distance from her home to avoid detection by the chevaliers for that day. She knew all too well that it was now a home to which she might never be able to return. Sighing softly at the additional loss, she dismounted Titan and removed his saddle.

Bryce followed her example, though at a much slower pace. If asked, he would admit to being rather disgusted with himself at the moment, or at least with his body's reaction to his injuries. _But then,_ he thought, _you've never been injured this severely in battle before._

While Bryce took care of Griffon, Eleanor stepped beyond the edges of camp in search of necessities for camp.  When she returned, arms filled with enough pieces of firewood for a small blaze, she found Bryce struggling with the buckle on Griffon's saddle. It finally came loose as she set aside the wood and prepared a small area for their fire.  Moments later, though, she could not help being drawn to watch as he began to lift the saddle off of the beast … until he turned and she noticed the seeping, spreading stain of fresh blood on his shirt and she cried out softly in alarm.  "Bryce, stop!" she insisted, abandoning her efforts for a fire and hurrying to his side. She brushed her hands off on her trousers before moving them beneath his shirt to check his bandages. She both heard and felt his sharp gasp as her hands touched the injured flesh near his ribcage, and she had to wonder if it was due to pain or the chill of her hands … or a combination of the two.

Eleanor frowned, sliding one hand up his back to his shoulders to test his body temperature. In the past, she had found this to be a much more accurate method of evaluating whether someone was feverish or not, and Bryce proved to be no different. The instant her fingers reached the muscles of his shoulders, her gaze shot up and noticed the glazed look settling over his eyes. Eleanor cursed silently at the fever that was taking hold of him. She used the hand on his back to give him support while yanking his bedroll loose from the saddle and tossing it to the ground where, thanks to her manhandling, it unrolled itself. Reaching her other hand for him, she assisted him to the ground. "Lie down," she murmured.

_This is all my fault!_ she thought. _I rode too hard! We should have stopped hours ago then he wouldn't have –_

"Ellie?"

Eleanor froze as he gasped her nickname.  Aside from Nan, the only other with permission to use it had been Iain. Glancing down, she could see though he was feverish, there was clarity in Bryce's eyes. He would remember this later. "Lie still and remain quiet," she told him softly, hoping that he would do as she asked. The last thing she needed right now was to be haunted by memories of her dead fiancé while caring for his brother.

Bryce groaned as she manipulated the clothing and bandages near the infected area. He'd known late that afternoon that an infection was setting in. His cloak had done much to warm him that day, but it was not enough to explain away the chills and chattering of teeth that he'd experienced in the hours just before they stopped to make camp. And now ….

Eleanor rose to her feet to grab her bedroll, covering Bryce with the extra warmth to help ward off his chills. She glanced down once, before turning away from him, to notice that he was either unconscious or asleep. As it produced the silence she requested, she didn't care at this point what its cause was. She had him settled as comfortably as she could make him, that was the main thing. Only then did she turn back to setting up the campfire. The blaze was a stubborn one to catch hold, but finally it did to her relief.

But at a cost.  For the second time that day, Eleanor realized she let her guard down just enough to nearly get caught unawares.

The shuffling was soft, barely discernible amongst the sounds of the night and the crackling fire, but Eleanor heard it … _Behind_ , she thought. Crouched as she was near the fire, she could reach for the dagger in her boot and not be seen, once recognition set in. Now that she knew there was something, _someone_ there, she could track the sound of its movement in her direction. Setting her complete focus on her assailant, Eleanor slowed her breathing, calmed herself, and measured the distance …

"You have no need for weapons against me, girl," the intruder announced, voice heavy with amusement. "Now, put that thing away before we all end up injured!"

Eleanor spun around, still crouched and with the dagger in hand, and found herself quite literally frozen to the spot as she stared at the sight before her ….

 


	6. Healer

"Wh-who are you?" Eleanor demanded, though the severity of her demand was lost as her teeth chattered together from the residual chill of the freezing spell the woman had used. Though the ice was now melted, Eleanor still felt the chill in her bones from head to toe.

"Names are pretty, but useless for any purpose other than personal vanity. I am a healer. If you must call me something, call me that which I am," she explained easily.

Eleanor glanced around the clearing. The woman had arrived alone from out of thin air it seemed. Eleanor could hear no other people nearby, no horses or clanking armor that she might expect from a patrol of Orlesian chevaliers after them. Quite to the contrary, the only other sounds aside from the two women's voices were the normal meanderings of forest life preparing for the evening ahead.

"I am very … appreciative of your timely arrival," Eleanor continued after a moment. "My friend," she gestured to Bryce, "has taken ill. I have been trying for days to heal him, but …"

The aged woman cackled, sending a chill up Eleanor's spine. "I know of your efforts, dear girl," she told Eleanor as she moved to kneel beside Bryce, "just as I know who you and your friend are."

Eleanor gasped. "What? But … how? You can't possibly …."

With a hard look almost magnetizing, Healer turned to Eleanor and said, "Eleanor, twin to Edward, the only children of Bann Galen Muir and his loving wife Annalynne MacTir who died giving the children life." Turning back to Bryce, she continued in a voice that was eerily monotonic and hypnotic, "Your friend is Bryce Cousland, eldest son of Teyrn Malcolm Cousland and appointed heir. He is also a descendent of Sarim Cousland just as he is also elder brother to your pledged, Iain Cousland who was killed alongside his men at the Battle of White River."

Eleanor was so stunned she could feel the blood draining from her face. _How …._

Healer chuckled, gesturing Eleanor over towards a stump. "Sit girl, before you fall over! I need only one patient, not two!" She directed her attention towards Bryce and his injuries. While she continued her discussion with Eleanor, she pulled herbs and other items from pouches secured at her waist. "Now then," she said, amusement clear in her voice, "you are wondering how I could possibly know these things? How I could know so much about you when we have never met before today?"

Eleanor could only nod her head in affirmation, surprise keeping her silent.

"I do have ears," Healer pointed out. "I hear things from travelers, from traders." When that did not seem to elicit the response the healer was looking for, she said, "You and your brother were not the only ones in all of Thedas who can correctly piece together the parts of puzzles, child! I listen with my ears. I see with my eyes. I process the information I have gathered and discover that one and one become two just as easily as you manage!"

The implication of an overabundance of pride on her and Edward's part caused Eleanor to blush. "I- I never meant -"

Healer brushed away the comment as if it were a fly buzzing about her face. "Bah! Let it be. I do not need apologies. They are a waste of time and of breath, and truly make neither party feel better in the end of things." Turning her attention fully now upon Eleanor, she asked, "You and your man are on the run, yes?"

Eleanor blinked. "He is not _my man_ as you so eloquently stated," she responded quickly and without thought. She actually shuddered at the idea. She knew nothing about Bryce save his blood relationship to Iain. Maker's breath, how could this woman who appeared to know so much about them already possibly think ….

Healer chuckled again. "Your destinies are intertwined so much more than you will ever know," she replied quietly. "But, enough of that. You did not answer my original question, though I know already by your gear, your horses, and the desperation with which you were trying to heal him." Gesturing Eleanor over to her side, Healer told her, "His fever is not strong, he should overcome it by morning. There is infection, but it is mild. Give him this," she lifted Eleanor's hand and placed a small pouch of leaves into it, "in an infusion of tea in the morning and he shall be healed by day's end."

And then, doing something completely unexpected and so quickly Eleanor had no time to react, Healer reached out with her other hand, and placed it up on Eleanor's forehead, lightly touching while tracing shapes and patterns. With a smile, she leaned forward and murmured in a low, reedy voice, "Sadly it will not last, yet you both shall find joy together beyond your fondest hopes, young Eleanor, despite your fears. Enjoy it while you can, and take heart at what will come, for your children together shall take the next step beyond. And always remember that there are men whose hearts hold shadows darker than any evil or tainted creature."

Eleanor was so shocked by Healer's soft touch upon her skin, by her tone and words that washed over her, she did not even notice the woman rise to her feet and leave the clearing until after she had disappeared.

Eleanor sat very still for a long time after Healer's departure. She knew that the woman had been there and that she had assisted with the care of Bryce. Eleanor glanced at the pouch in her hand and knew they were for a tea she was to administer to Bryce in the morning before they left on their journey. But beyond that, the memories of the woman were, at best, hazy. Shaking her head, she set the pouch aside for later. Then, deciding that she was too weary to ponder things any longer, she turned towards her bedroll ….

… and realized that her blankets were covering the man she had helped save. Reaching out, Eleanor placed a hand at his shoulder, at his forehead and then, lightly, at his injured side. Yes, there was still an incredible warmth there, but it was not like the fire she had felt earlier. Taking one of her blankets back from him, she wrapped it around her tired body and lay down near him. She was cold and chilled still and found it difficult to get comfortable.

It was much later when Eleanor found a somewhat comfortable position, and she had just about fallen asleep when she felt Bryce start thrashing about next to her. She tried lying still, to see if he would calm on his own, but that did not work. Sighing in frustration and sheer exhaustion, Eleanor sat up, leaning over him. She felt for signs of the fever, but found nothing too extreme. Touching his forehead, she did find a sheen of sweat, and this she wiped away with the edge of her blanket. "Bryce," she whispered near his ear, "everything is alright. You are safe."

But still he kept thrashing, shifting, and eventually kicked off his blanket. This, Eleanor grabbed since he was not completely dressed and would inevitably need the protection from the cold at some point. Placing the material back over him, she grabbed his left hand which appeared to be reaching out for something … _or someone_ , she realized. "Bryce!" she called just a bit louder than before.

"No … Iain!" Bryce's hoarse whisper cried. "No!"

With a gasp of pure terror, Eleanor bolted upright. He was dreaming of the battle, of losing his brother! "Bryce!" she called again, this time shaking his shoulder.

But still he remained in the dream. His mumblings became more indistinct, more garbled, but occasionally she would hear her intended's name called. "Oh, Bryce!" she whispered softly, allowing her grief for what they both had lost in the person of Iain Cousland to surface. She sobbed, alone but for a feverish shell of a man lying beside her, and with her tears grieved, finally allowing her heart to begin the healing process.

It was a long while later when Eleanor's tears finally abated. She also noted that Bryce's movements and moanings had calmed as well. No longer capable of coherent thought, she lay back down and curled up beside him, seeking his warmth and companionship, however fleeting and, at least at present, unconscious they might be.


	7. Promises

 

In the morning as he awoke, Bryce noticed that it was still dark, though the birds were beginning their morning calls. As he lay there listening to the noises of the woods around them, he tried to remember what had happened the day before. The last thing he recalled was falling as he got off his horse ….

Shifting his position, Bryce found himself face to face with his rescuer, though she still slept. She was curled up against him, unconsciously sharing his body heat. She also had her arm thrown around his waist and with a smile to himself, he had to wonder if that was instinctual rather than intentional. He stared down at her and was sorely tempted to brush loose tendrils of her hair away from her face. His thoughts suddenly drifted to a conversation that he and his brother had the night before White River ….

~ n ~

_Bryce stood at the doorway to the pavilion staring outwards at the makeshift camp his father's men had made along with the other troops that joined them for this battle. Behind him, he could hear Iain, Howe and Arl Bryland as they discussed the upcoming confrontation. Though he did not betray it in voice or manner, Bryce easily recognized Iain was very worried as a result. It had been during their journey here, bringing their father's men to join, that Iain first mentioned his fears._

_In stark contrast, the mood now seemed almost jovial; almost too much so given the delicate nature of the rebellion at the moment. Still without much success after all their efforts, for who in their right minds could consider the disaster at West Hill a success unless you were an Orlesian, and yet, the rebellion lived on. Maric was out there somewhere, Bryce knew, though King Meghren and his Orlesian cronies were vehemently denying it._ If only we could join up with Maric, _Bryce thought._ Our combined forces would be so much more efficient!

_Bryce somehow managed not to jump as Rendon Howe's arm clapped him on his shoulder, effectively ending his musings._ _"Bryce, you are missing out on all of the fun!" the man finally managed to grumble. "Don't tell me your younger brother is more entertaining than you are?"_

_Bryce said nothing, but could hear his brother murmur something behind him.  Though not clear enough for him to hear, whatever was said caused Howe to turn back towards Bryce and say in a slurred voice, "I suppose, though, he is right. I shall see you in the morning."_

_Bryce shook his head, disgusted by the way his friend seemed to drink himself into such an inebriated state on the eve before battle. This wasn't the first time he had done it, and Bryce doubted it would be the last. Arl Bryland, a much more sober man, exited the tent shortly after assuring Bryce he would make sure Howe returned safely to his tent._

_When Iain joined his brother at the doorway, he quipped, "Was it something I said?"_

_Even Bryce couldn't refrain from laughing at this. "No doubt," he returned, deciding to step back into the tent. He wandered over to the table where a map and a bottle of Antivan Brandy sat, a gift from his father to the Arl. As he poured himself a glass, he heard Iain seat himself once more. Bryce sipped his drink, allowing the smoky taste to roll over the taste buds and slowly find its way to his stomach, the drink to warming him as it did so. "Something on your mind, little brother?" Bryce asked, turning to face Iain._

_Practically the opposite image of himself, Iain's blond hair and brown eyes were the only remaining features in their family line that belonged to their mother’s side.  And like their mother, Iain tended to be quiet and soft spoken, only chiming in when he had something important to say. At this moment, he was looking rather contemplative, Bryce thought. After what seemed like an eternity, the younger man finally responded, "I need a favor, brother."_

_Bryce was startled. Iain never asked people for favors, particularly of an older brother who was in line for the Teyrnship of Highever. "Name it," Bryce replied without hesitation. If Iain was asking, it was important._

_Iain actually chuckled. "Be careful, brother, for you may get what you do not wish for!"_

_Bryce smiled. He and his brother had always gotten on well.  He was also more outgoing and knew how to put people at ease with his wit and humor whereas Bryce, as the eldest and next in line for the Teyrnir, was more serious and grounded. Though not entirely humorless; one of the few people who was successful at amusing the man was his brother._

_They remained in a companionable silence for a time and Bryce suspected Iain was searching for a way to tell him something. To push Iain would only make him back off, not encourage him forward. Bryce’s glass was nearly empty when Iain finally spoke. "I need a promise from you, brother."_

_Bryce nodded. "And that would be?"_

_Iain stood, walked over to Bryce and lifted his brother’s left hand. In his palm, he placed a ring. He saw Bryce's frown of confusion and announced slowly, "Assuming we survive this battle, I am formally betrothing myself to the daughter of Bann Galen Muir."_

_Bryce was stunned. He hadn't even known that talks were in the works between the two families …. But the look he saw behind the brown eyes told him a different tale. "Iain …."_

_Iain shook his head. He clasped his brother's arm. "I will not survive the battle, Bryce. Neither will the men from Highever. I think we both know that. Despite what Howe and Bryland say, despite the number of troops we have here … we will not win. I know this!"_

_The younger man glanced away before he could continue. "I ask you to promise me you will find her, watch over her for me when this does happen. She is on our side," he added with a small smile. "Her brother, Edward, is one of Bryland's men. Anyway, I want to die know she will be in good hands after I am gone."_

_Bryce was at a loss as to what to say. "Iain, does father know?"_

_Iain shook his head. "No. Eleanor and I met a number of years ago. We've been writing to each other ever since. When I suggested to her that we marry, by some miracle, she agreed. This is by our own arrangement." He handed him a letter written by a delicate hand. "No one else was involved.  All I ask is that you see she remains safe.” Turning away, Iain exited the tent to walk among the men._

_Bryce stared after his brother for a moment, then down at the ring in his hand. What choice did he really have?_

~ n ~

While she slept, and he remembered, Bryce stared down at Eleanor's features. He could see why his younger brother had been so taken with the young woman: very dark hair, like the color of charcoal when used to draw a picture; eyes as green as emeralds; and a complexion that looked like porcelain. Though he didn't know her well, yet, he was curious as to this woman's personality that would have enraptured his brother so much to make him go against conventional wisdom and tradition in getting married.

Bryce felt Eleanor's body move against his as she shifted her sleeping position. He drew in his breath sharply as her hand moved, now rubbing against his wound. There was pain, and the only thought he could manage at that time was, _If there is pain, I am alive and awake and this is not a dream…._

Eleanor's eyes popped open suddenly, widely, and she came face to face with Bryce. Instinctually, she pushed herself away from him, saying, "Oh!"

Bryce managed a chuckle despite the pain. "Good morning to you, too!"

Eleanor rolled to her feet in a quick movement, tossing aside the blanket she had wrapped herself in during the night. Moving to the fire, now merely a pile of coals and ash, she began working it, adding tinder and sticks, until enough of a blaze had begun to heat water for the tea she remembered she needed him to drink. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Bryce struggling to sit up. Sighing in frustration, she rushed back to his side and placed a hand to his chest, pushing him back. "Don't move just yet," she explained. "I have some tea that will help with your infection."

Bryce nodded his agreement, watching her scramble back towards the fire. She seemed … nervous? Perhaps he was reading too much into her actions. "Is it … bad?" he asked. When her head snapped up, her green eyes looking confused, he clarified, "The infection."

Eleanor lowered her eyes once more, replying, "No. And the tea should set you to rights by the end of the day."

Bryce nodded in understanding, but doubted she even saw him. She seemed awfully intent upon rekindling the fire and getting a kettle of water heating at that moment. He watched her work at the fire, making the tea and fixing something to eat. Eleanor remained quiet, almost awkwardly so, and Bryce finally asked, "Is something wrong?"

Eleanor shook her head, but remained silent for a time. When the tea was done, she took it over to him and told him, "You can sit up now. Drink this." She placed the cup in his hand.

Bryce nodded, doing as she instructed. Though the drink was bitter, and almost unpalatable, he downed it as instructed. "Eleanor, please," he told her afterwards. "Talk to me! We are going to be traveling together and we will need to discuss things. Right now I can't trust that I will even get a response out of you let alone a truthful one!"

Eleanor returned with a bowl of porridge. "Eat this," she told him before moving back to the other side of the fire where she set her things.

Sighing, Bryce turned his attention to eating. He was about four bites in when he saw Eleanor set down her bowl. Tilting his head in her direction, he was barely able to catch her softly spoken words.

"You were feverish last night, … and talking about … Iain…."

It took him the briefest of moments to realize what she meant. Groaning, he set aside his food and managed to move to her side with minimal pain. Without asking, or waiting for a protest, he pulled her into his arms and simply held her. The tears that followed were not a surprise. "I'm sorry," he murmured, rocking her slightly in an effort to ease her pain. If he needed any further evidence aside from his brother's testimony that the two had been in love, this was it. "I was dreaming of Iain," he admitted, "of our last discussion together before the battle."

Eleanor froze within his arms, but he would not let her pull away. "Eleanor, he knew he was going to die. I think we all knew that the chances of success were minimal at best, but Iain was resigned to his fate." Bryce ceased talking for a moment, searching for words that would comfort her as well as help her heal. He reached over for his pack which was with hers near the fire and retrieved two items, the letter and the ring his brother gave him. Taking Eleanor's hand, he placed them both in her palm. "Iain asked me to find you, to make sure you were safe. He made me promise to _keep_ you safe." He chuckled softly. "Little did he realize it would be you finding me and saving my skin!"

Eleanor managed a sorrowful laugh as she placed the ring on her finger and folded the letter, the one where she had accepted his proposal, placing it in her bag. "I just happened to be in the right place at the right time," she told him.

Bryce tilted her head up to look at him. "Iain knew you would be in danger; not just if word got out about your engagement to him, but because your brother openly joined up with Arl Bryland's troops."

Eleanor nodded, still resting against him, allowing his shared grief to help her heal. After a time, she pulled away, assisting him to his feet as she rose, saying, "We'd best get moving."

Bryce nodded in agreement. "We've got a long way to go."

 


	8. Travel Plans

Their chosen path took them as far south and in the complete opposite direction of Highever as one could possibly go.  Both Eleanor and Bryce knew the geography of their country well enough to recognize this, just as they both understood that they really were left with no other choice in their travel plans.  Being on the run from Orlesian chevaliers drastically limited their options.

The tea Bryce drank at the morning meal worked exactly as promised by Healer.  By the end of that first day, his fever was long gone and for the first time since the Battle of White River, he actually felt better.  By the next morning, the wound itself had knit closed and was barely discernible upon his skin save for a very thin white scar about six inches in length.

Since that same morning, now some two weeks past the late-night meeting with the Healer, Eleanor remained withdrawn.  Still trying to come to terms with the loss of the man she planned to marry, Eleanor realized she made a poor traveling companion just then.  Bryce, thankfully, did not try to fill the long silences with meaningless chatter, or memories and stories of Iain and his years at Highever.  He respected her silence and her grief.

As they traveled this day, covered in dark grey, heavy woolen cloaks meant to protect them from the steady rain, as well as serve as camouflage and blend in with their surroundings, Eleanor’s mood, still depressed, shifted from grieving to more practical concerns like how they were ever going to survive this journey.  Their original allotment of food was now long gone and they were resorting to hunting and scavenging forests rather than chancing nearing any village or hamlet to beg, borrow or steal.

Now in their fourth week out from Bann Muir’s estate, they were beginning to skirt along the outer edges of the Korcari Wilds.  Their journey so far had brought them to the far southern reaches of the Southron Hills where the Korcari Wilds began.  Between the two was a large valley known as the Hinterlands which ran northwards up towards Lake Calenhad.  Between Bryce and Eleanor, this was their favored route to Highever, eventually traveling around the eastern coast of the lake and skirting the Bannorn along its western edge until crossing the Imperial Highway to the north and leading almost straight into the teyrnir.  However, it was understood that, if indeed there was trouble brewing in this direction, they most likely would have to resort to their backup plan: heading far west between the Frostback mountains and the west side of Lake Calenhad before jogging back north and east to Highever.  If that happened, the trip would be extended by months.

Eleanor was pulled from her reveries when Bryce pulled his mount to a sudden halt in front of her.  She remained mounted as he descended to the forest floor.  “Bryce?  What -?”

“Shh,” he cautioned, handing her the reins to Griffon.  He lifted his shield from its mounting upon the saddle while unsheathing his sword.

Eleanor glanced around in concern.  She was about to speak again when he turned to face her, holding his finger to his lips beneath his hood.  He walked to her side and placed a hand to her leg, murmuring so only she could hear, “I will be back shortly.  Be ready to run.”  Eleanor simply nodded at his retreating form.   _He’s seen something_.

Long, silent minutes passed and Eleanor began to grow antsy.  She tried to remain calm, mostly in an effort to keep the horses the same, but she knew she wasn’t successful when Griffon shied his head and tried to pull away from her.  After a while, she heard a shuffling noise behind her and reached for her bow.  Always her best weapon, she could pin man or beast at a hundred paces on foot, and from horseback even further.

Bryce suspected Eleanor would hear him before he broke through the brush near her location and he lifted his shield in protection just before entering the clearing.  “Ellie!” he hissed as he continued running, “it’s me!”

Eleanor heard him, shifting her aim and searching for a target chasing behind him but finding none.  “What is it?” she demanded, using her knees to nudge Titan up beside Griffon.  Bryce was up, mounted, and taking the reins from her almost before she could finish her question.  “Ride.   _NOW!_ ” he urged her, nudging Griffon into action and leading off towards the west.

Eleanor nodded, following immediately after him.  She knew better than to challenge him then and there.  Besides, if his actions were any indication, her question was already answered.  Remaining silent, she brought Titan up beside Griffon as they raced on.

Bryce led them long and hard that day, only slowing the animals to walking pace when they were able to gain enough cover from the trees.  Neither wanted to take their chances in the Wilds – between untamed animals, the Chasind tribes and cursed lands - the only thoughts Bryce and Eleanor had at that point were to skirt as close to the edge of the Wilds as quickly as possible while remaining out of the sight of their pursuers.

It was well after dark that night when Bryce indicated they should stop.  As they had leftover food from the previous night, Bryce kept Eleanor from building a fire.  At her look, he patted the ground and waited for her to sit beside him.  Once she did, he unclasped his cloak and set it over the both of them to protect them from the drizzling rain that was currently making their lives miserable.

Without preamble and while taking some of the cold roast from her, he said, “They were waiting for us in the valley.  I saw at least two different patrols and a possible third.”

Eleanor’s eyes widened and met his.   _That many?_  “So they are aware you survived and we are on the run together?”

He nodded.  “And they know who we are.  I managed to get close enough to listen in for a bit.  They are apparently after the fifty or so of us who survived the battle at White River.”

Eleanor nodded slowly.  “That makes sense,” she murmured.  “Given King Meghren’s reaction to what happened at West Hill, I would imagine he would have viewed White River as adding insult to injury.”

Bryce nodded in response.  “Not only that, but from what I overheard, if I understood them correctly, the Orlesian commander at White River has taken the fact that even fifty survivors – this is out of over nine hundred combatants, mind you – is fifty too many.”  

They ate in silence for a time, at which point Eleanor asked, “Do we know who this Orlesian commander is?  Do we know anything about him?”

Bryce shook his head.  “All I know is that he was referred to by the men as ‘Le Loup Garou,’” he explained.

 _The Wolf_.  Eleanor nodded.  She had heard the name mentioned before among the people of her father’s bann, and none of it good.  Sighing heavily, she moved closer to Bryce, sharing what warmth she could with lack of a fire.  “I guess we have no choice but to head west then?” she queried.  She leaned against him as his arm dropped around her shoulders, offering her what little comfort and protection he could.

He nodded.  “I do not see that we have any other choice at this point,” he replied quietly.  “We will have to leave the horses and travel by foot,” he added, recalling the little he knew about the Frostback Mountains.  

Eleanor nodded.  She hated the thought of leaving or selling her beloved Titan or Nan’s Griffon, but they would have little choice.  The steep rugged terrain of the Frostback Mountains would be no place for the equines.  

Bryce knew the moment that Eleanor nodded off, and chose that time to tighten his hold, albeit only slightly, around her.  He wished she would allow him to talk to her about Iain, to help assuage her grief.  However, he had seen enough people during his years at Highever to know that each person grieved differently from the next.

 


	9. Fading Memories

They would be entering the Frostback Mountains the next day. Thankfully, they came upon a dwarven merchant willing to trade many of their goods for quality items that were better suited for the cold, snowy and mountainous terrain, particularly heavier clothing and outer cloaks, though Eleanor was getting frustrated with the white fur edging on hers as it tickled her nose, making her want to sneeze! Also obtained was a halfway decent set of heavy chainmail armor for Bryce who, since their departure from Bann Muir’s estate, had relied only on the clothing on his back for protection.  In return, the merchant who was headed in a roundabout fashion towards Eleanor's father's estate and for a small sum of money promised upon his arrival at the estate agreed to take the horses and deliver them to Bann Muir.

They made camp at the base of the mountain that night, one of many they both knew they would have to climb before reaching the northern edge of the range. Eleanor had viewed a map of the Frostbacks years before and realized at the slow pace by which they would have to travel, it was going to take them a number of months to reach the other side.   _Nothing to be done about it,_ she mused as she settled in for the evening.   _We must cross them.  And to do so, I need sleep._  Curling up beneath her blankets then, Eleanor drifted off to sleep.

Bryce watched from the other side of the fire as Eleanor settled down for the night.  She had been unexpectedly quiet all afternoon, though he suspected that this had more to do with the loss of the horses than anything else.  A smile tugged at his lips as he recalled the last bit of attention she had given the animals.  They were more than mere methods of transportation to her, he realized.  And in all honesty, he couldn’t blame her for that.

A short while later, as he sat beside the fire, cup of tea in hand as he kept a somewhat informal watch on their sheltered camp, Bryce found himself thinking forward just a bit, wondering what the months would bring.  The journey would be long and arduous.  Just like Eleanor, he was well aware of the distance between the southern and northern end of the Frostbacks.  Time would only tell, he supposed, but given that it was the only option left to them, there was no other choice.  Both of them understood that.  

A yawn caught him off guard, reminding him that he should be getting much needed rest like Eleanor.  Settling down, he pulled his blanket over his shoulders and rested his head on his bent arm.  Morning would arrive all too quickly ….

~ n ~

 

_Bryce was a bit confused at first, a thick mist seemed to be rising and falling around the camp, hiding everyone and everything around him from sight.  But it wasn’t the location of the current camp that he and Eleanor shared, that much he recognized.  So the question remained: where was he?_

_“You are in the Fade, brother,” a voice called from his left.  It had that sort of muted quality to it that sounds often took on when surrounded by thick mists, as if dampered by an invisible wall.  Bryce’s eyes darted around, searching from whence it came, but he saw no one.  Nothing but trees and bushes and …._

_Maker’s breath, he knew this place!  How many times in his youth had he and his brother snuck out of the castle at night for the chance to defy their parents, albeit in a minor way, and go for a quick swim?  It was their swimming hole in Highever!  “Iain?” Bryce called out hesitantly, “is that you?”  There was always a chance, after all, that it was a trick of some sort._

_A moment later, the mists parted and Bryce saw a familiar form walking towards him.  So alike and yet so different all the same, he thought.  Though to look at them they were physically exact opposites, there were some familial resemblances: chin, nose, even the shape of their ears matched those of their father.  They even had a similar build, though Iain was broader in the chest and Bryce was a few inches taller._

_“Bryce.”  There was a sound of relief in his brother’s tone, Bryce noted, and it surprised him.  “You made it safely away then?”_

_Bryce gave his younger sibling a wry smile.  “I am alive, yes.  Eleanor and I are currently on the run from those same Orlesians, however.”_

_Iain nodded, almost distractedly.  “You found her then.  Thank you.”_

_This time, Bryce actually chuckled.  “More like she found me,” he returned.  When Iain looked up at him then, Bryce grinned.  “Who else do you think saved my hide?”  He saw a knowing grin spread across Iain’s face.  After a moment, Bryce continued in a more serious vein.  “She came in search of Edward.  She found his body first and then found me nearby.  I suspect had she known you were there, she would have searched for you as well.”_

_Iain nodded, the sadness echoing in his eyes.  “It is just as well she did not,” Iain finally told Bryce.  “Better she should remember me the way I was before.”_

_“Iain, I -”_

_Iain gave his brother a half-hearted smile.  “No, Bryce.  Things happened as they were meant to.  I knew that at the time.”_

_Sighing, Bryce turned away, his eyes gazing into the distance yet not really seeing anything.  Noticing a fallen log nearby, Bryce led the way over and took a seat, gesturing for his brother to do the same.  “Iain, we are being hunted,” Bryce finally murmured, thankful that even though it was only the realm of dreams he was able to converse with his brother.  Surely any input would be better than none, right?_

_“I know,” Iain returned.  Stepping closer to Bryce, Iain reached out and gave his brother the old warrior’s clasp, forearm to forearm, that their father and grandfather taught them years before and then took a seat.  “You must stay safe, Bryce,” he told his sibling in an urgent tone.  “Keep her safe.  The Maker has plans for you both, beginning now.”_

_Bryce stared down at Iain for a long moment.  “I don’t suppose you’d care to expand on that?” he queried._

_Iain smiled but shook his head.  “I cannot,” he returned.  “Just know that you and Ellie will have to rely upon each other, come what may, for a very long time.  You are a worthy pairing, brother,” he added, a teasing glint of mischief sparkling in his eyes then.  “You will suit each other well.”_

_Bryce snorted softly.  “She is stubborn, Iain.”_

_“And you aren’t?” Iain challenged with a lift of a brow.  “In all seriousness, Bryce, that stubbornness will help you both through what lies before you.”_

_Bryce had nothing to say to that, simply turning away and staring off yet again, his thoughts jumping hither and yon._

_Iain sighed then, reluctantly rising to his feet and turning towards his brother one last time.  “Take care of her, brother.  That is all I ask,” he said quietly.  “As much as she and I loved each other, I know with you she will have that which I never would have been able to provide her.”  Iain lifted a hand to silence Bryce as he began to protest.  “We would have been happy, but there would have been something missing.  Something that you can give her,” he explained.  And then his eyes darkened a bit, the sadness returning.  “Be strong for her, Bryce, and for yourself.  The road will be long and it will not be an easy one.”_

_Bryce stared at Iain for a long moment.  Iain was the one who was usually so at ease and relaxed, finding a way through the difficulties of life with a small joke or lopsided grin to ease those around him as well.  To have him so serious like this only served to give added emphasis to his words.  The brothers shared one more look before Bryce noticed Iain’s shape beginning to fade from view.  “Iain -” he called out, jumping to his feet just as his brother’s form disappeared from sight, “- thank you.”  Bryce could only hope that his brother had heard that last.  Their family had not been one for open displays of emotion or feelings since his mother’s passing.  He could only hope that his brother had known the true depth of his feelings._

 

~ n ~

_It took some time for the images to settle into place around her, but Eleanor knew she was in the Fade the moment it began. She looked around, trying to determine her location …. Finally, it hit her: the library at her father's home._

" _Ellie!" a familiar voice murmured before the sensation of a tall, well built man could be felt standing behind her._

_Eleanor spun around. "Iain!" she breathed, throwing herself into his arms for a hug, allowing him to do the same to her. With a sad smile, she lifted a hand to his face, brushing back loose strands of his hair. "Oh, how I miss you!"_

_Iain chuckled. "As I miss you." He pulled her hands to his lips, brushing a kiss against the knuckles there. "I see you wear my ring. I guess that means my brother found you?"_

_Eleanor scoffed. "I found him, more like! Nan and I went looking for Edward. I found your brother injured in a copse of trees near Edward's body." Then she fought back tears. "I did not realize I should be looking for you as well at the time!"_

_Iain shook his head, patting her shoulder. "Do not dwell on it, Ellie. It was more important that Bryce survive."_

" _But -?"_

" _El, I was gone. I knew this would be, even before the battle horns sounded. What is important now is keeping the two of you alive."_

_Eleanor sniffed softly. "Your brother seems more than capable of taking care of himself," she managed after a bit._

_Iain chuckled again, tilting her head to look up at him. "While quite true," he told her, "I was actually referring to something entirely different."_

_Though it was the Fade, the library was identical to her father's. There were several chairs scattered about the room, and Iain now led her to sit on one of them. "Sit," he told her gently. "I have much to tell you and very little time in which to say it."_

_He saw that she would protest, so he pushed her down before kneeling beside her. Taking her hand in his, he removed the ring – **his** ring – that she placed there when Bryce gave it to her. He held it up between his forefinger and thumb, looking through the hole at her. "First things first: Remove this ring." He observed the flash of pain in her emerald gaze and softened his words by placing his hand upon her cheek. "We were never meant to be, love," he told her, "and though I know that is a pain almost beyond enduring, you will have others, some even more difficult to bear, before this journey is over."_

_Eleanor saw a sadness in his eyes. "What is it?" she asked._

_Iain shook his head. "No, it is not my place to tell you. You will find out soon enough. Just know that the trials you and my brother will have to endure will be the mortar to strengthen your relationship for what is to come." He quieted for a moment, as if pushing away unwanted or unbidden thoughts. Then, continuing a bit more brightly, "What I can do, is tell you that your destiny and that of my brother lie together."_

_Eleanor was surprised at his words to say the very least. "Are you telling me that I should marry your brother?"_

_Iain's grin was wide and reached to his eyes. "No," he reassured her, "I am not **telling** you to marry him. I am simply saying that the two of you have similar paths to follow, and that should you feel so inclined as to marry, I would not have any objections to the arrangement."_

" _I can't believe I am hearing this!" she muttered, rising to her feet once more._

_Iain pushed her back into the seat. "Not done," he told her simply._

_Eleanor, truly frustrated now, crossed her arms in front of her. "Now what?" she demanded._

_Iain took a very brief moment to laugh. "You know, your brother once warned me just how stubborn you can be."_

" _Did he now?" she growled._

_Iain's grin widened even further. "Yes. He said, 'If you think I'm stubborn, you ought to see El! Once she's made a decision you are about as likely to change her mind as you would be in convincing a mabari pup to imprint on someone other than whom he's chosen!'"_

_Eleanor's frown deepened, but she said nothing._

_Finally relenting, Iain took her hand in his and squeezed. "I would have married you, Ellie, you do know that, don't you?" He saw her anger thaw, a slight nod of her head her only response to his question. "But I know now that what you and I might have had together pales in comparison to what you can find with Bryce." He felt her stiffen at his words. "He is a good man, Ellie. Honorable, duty-driven like you. You two would make the most formidable match in all of Ferelden. Not even Maric, once he becomes king, will surpass the two of you!"_

_Eleanor noticed then that both Iain's voice and visage were beginning to waver, fading away. Leaning forward, she cried in alarm, "Iain!"_

_But though his smile was sorrowful, he told her, "Live your life well and happy."_

~ n ~

 

With a gasp, Eleanor bolted up and felt a strong hand at her shoulder. Bryce was standing above her. Leaning down to speak near her ear, he murmured, "It's time to go."

Eleanor rubbed her eyes, trying to scrub the sleep from them. "Right," she replied softly. When he extended his hand to her, she took it, bouncing to her feet beside him.

Bryce glanced down at her and searched her face. She seemed … unsettled today. "Everything okay?" he queried gently.   _Though, Maker knows you have your own reasons for feeling the same,_ he reminded himself.

Eleanor offered him a hesitant smile. "Yes," she returned softly. "Everything is fine." She reached down then and lifted her pack to her shoulder.  Next she did the same with her bow and before reassuring herself that her dagger was in its usual spot. She rolled up her blankets and stowed them atop the pack and secured her cloak around her, annoying trim and all. Turning towards the man her betrothed had indicated should now be hers, she announced, "Ready."

Bryce simply watched her, sensing a change in her attitude, but unsure of its source or how complete it would be. "Right then," he said, shouldering his own pack and lifting his hood to protect from the wind and snow. "Let's be off."

Eleanor followed behind Bryce, thinking to herself as they began to ascend the mountain, _These are but the first steps of many. Maker watch over us and keep us safe!_

 


	10. Falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up - NSFW This is, for all intents and purposes, the equivalent of the tent scene in Dragon Age: Origins.

By the end of the third week, the days were beginning to blend into one another. Each day progress was made, though not as fast as they might have hoped. It was tough work climbing up and down mountains.  Add in the changeable weather and at times it could be like a nightmare trying to traverse whatever footpaths they could find.

One afternoon, as Bryce and Eleanor were descending a particularly nasty switchback, a violent winter storm whipped up from the west and caught the pair off guard leaving them to struggle just to make it to a suitable location for shelter. At one point during the process, Eleanor slipped on a slick spot, her feet sliding out from beneath her and causing her to slide towards the edge of the mountain.  Bryce reached out instantly, automatically, to catch her arm with his before she could, locking their arms together so that Eleanor simply landed hard on her knees instead of pitching over the edge into the abyss beyond. After she was still for a moment, safe, Bryce pulled her back from the edge, dropping against the stone surface behind him where he sat and held her tight, damning the storm that churned around them while silently thanking the Maker.

An hour after that, they found a small cave in the rock face and set up their simplified camp for the evening. They made a fire, set out their bedrolls and then focused on something to eat. All the while, each remained silent, keeping their thoughts private from the other. Whether the silence was due to the near brush with death, the storm, the days on end of travel, or sheer exhaustion didn't matter: it was companionable and filling it with unnecessary conversation would have only made matters worse.

Meal completed, Bryce rose and wandered over to stand near opening to the cave. He was not surprised when Eleanor joined him a few moments later. She moved to his side, having pulled her cloak over her shoulders, but she kept her head free of the hood. She remained silent as she moved beside him. Bryce, in an attempt to offer her reassurance and just a simple touch to acknowledge what he had almost lost that afternoon, took a chance and lifted his arm, placing it around Eleanor's shoulder. She stiffened at first at the contact, before slowly relaxing beneath his touch.

As she released her anxieties and tensions of the day, Eleanor leaned further into Bryce's embrace. He glanced down at her and lifted an eyebrow in question even as she looked up at him, tilting her head so that she could see him clearly.  It was then he noticed her acknowledgement; in the tilt of her head, the smile in her eyes and in just the slightest separation of her lips.  Bryce took a long moment to consider what he would do before slowly lowering to touch his lips to hers.

Eleanor sighed softly, reveling in the touch for a time, savoring the taste of him and saving it to her memories, before reality began to intrude.  The sense of survival she had been focusing on since the accident finally began to fade.  Pushing back from him then as panic began to build, she pleaded softly, “Bryce, stop!" But Maker, it was a difficult thing for her to do.

Reluctantly, Bryce did so, taking a step back from her.  He watched in silence as she turned away from him and moved back over by the fire to sit. "El, what's wrong?" he called after her retreating form while remaining near the entrance.  She appeared to want space and he was determined to give it to her.

When glanced back over at him, he saw tears building in her eyes, even from this distance. "Do you not understand the dangers we face?" she choked out. "We can't get involved – we could be traveling through these mountains for months and that is assuming we can actually make it to the other side of the range alive!"

Bryce crossed until he stood before her, crouching to kneel so they were eye level.  After another moment, he reached out and pulled her close so he could rest his forehead against hers. As he did so, he whispered softly, "Maker knows I did not plan this, Eleanor!”  He paused for a moment, searching for words.  “Despite everything, and not simply because of the promise I made to Iain, you are coming to mean a great deal to me …."

Eleanor shuddered at the thought. Covering his lips with her fingers she hissed, "Don't say such things, Bryce! What if -"

Bryce was insistent and pulled his mouth from her fingers. "No, not what if, Ellie!” he growled.  “Life is too short for what ifs.  We almost had proof of that today, did we not?"

Eleanor groaned, leaning her head against his shoulder, unable to find words to counter his arguments. "This is so easy for you!" she hissed in a voice filling rapidly with despair. "You are a Teyrn's eldest son. If you should change your mind at a later date, nothing will be said against you! Where will that leave me?" she argued harshly, reaching desperately for anything that might convince him. "My reputation is at stake as well, Bryce.  I am already less of a bargaining chip seeing that I am the daughter of a minor Bann, not that of a high and mighty Teryn!"

Bryce pulled his hand around to take her face between his hands, forcing her to look into eyes burning with the intensity of his emotions. "Eleanor, I have no doubt in my mind that we are meant for one another!" he told her sincerely. "I fully intend to ask your father for your hand, as soon as is possible given our … current nomadic existence." He leaned closer, not relinquishing his hold. "You have found your way into my life and I do not want to lose that!" he told her firmly before covering her lips with his own in a kiss meant to prove just that to her.

Eleanor felt the crush of him against her, felt the power that emanated from his body to hers simply through the kiss and wondered if he might be right. She lifted her hands, long graceful fingers attached to capable, strong hands, and wrapped her arms around his neck. Moments later, she shifted slightly, adjusting the angle of her mouth, taking their kiss that much deeper and silently agreeing with his assessment.

Bryce felt the tension in Eleanor’s shoulders leave as he slid his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him.  A moment later, he shifted so that he could settle himself upon the blankets of her bedroll, pulling her down onto his lap as he did so.  He then lifted a hand to the clasp at the back of her head, releasing her raven locks so that they spilled down over her shoulders, reaching her waist. Only then could he finally slide his hands through the lengths, admiring the thickness, the strength, the absolute beauty of the tendrils. He had been itching to see her hair down, to touch it, run his fingers through it since the moment he had first awoken to find her leaning over him.  Now that he could feel its silken weight against his skin, he could not hold back a groan of delight.

Eleanor's breath caught at the mere pressure of his hands, the slight tug of her hair as he combed it with his calloused fingers. She was unprepared for the sensations that coursed through her at that moment. Sure, she had stolen kisses from boys before, and some of them had even been other banns' sons, but this man was doing things to her that alone meant nothing special, but in reality caused her to react in ways she had never dared dream.

A hand moved, sliding downwards to the front lacings of her bodice and shirt until he could the sleeves off her shoulders. Gently, ever so slowly, she felt the warmth of her skin, now flushed with desire, being exposed to the cooler air inside the cave. And though the fire blazed heartily nearby, its warmth was not enough to keep the entire space comfortable.  Yet despite that, she did not feel the cold.

Bryce pulled himself into a seated position, adjusting their positions so that she was in front of him, across his lap, her back up against his chest. He continued to loosen the laces of her corset before sliding down the left sleeve and followed shortly thereafter by the right. He could hear mewling gasps escaping as he ran his lips along her neck, her temple; his hands caressed the skin of her shoulders and arms before moving back to the laces once again dropping to gently knead her breasts as he finally freed them. Though a part of him wanted to rip the items off of her in a primordial display of ownership, he resisted the urge and pulled them over her head instead, setting them to the side and out of danger’s way.

Eleanor's head tilted backwards to rest against his shoulder, her entire body lost in the sensations that Bryce was creating by the simple removal of clothing. She had never felt this way before; she could never have dreamed of such a thing, to be honest. Unable to contain the little gasps and purrs that his touch was eliciting from her as he continued to kiss along her neck, her shoulder and beyond, she felt his right arm slide around her waist and his left reach for the waistband of her trousers. He moved slowly, teasingly, loosening the ties and lowering the material inch by blessed inch until he exposed the flesh he found there. Her eyes closed, her body riding a wave of pleasure she hadn't believed could exist before today.  She did not resist.

Bryce's breath caught as Eleanor arched her back, her head bowing back against his chest, her breathing harsh, almost violent, as his fingers continued tracing patterns lightly along her skin, beneath her clothing, until they found their destination.

Eleanor's gasp was audible, harsh to his ears. Her body tensed for a moment as he reached the soft but very sensitive area, but he waited patiently, until she accepted the sensations. The moment she melted back against him, he knew she would be his. But he did not change tactics. Rather, he continued to tease her, creating a new tension within her that could be felt in each muscle of her toned body as it coiled into a tightness just waiting to be set loose.

Eleanor wanted to scream as his fingers slid beneath the edge of her smallclothes, touching her where no man had ever touched her before. She grasped his arm with her hands, the nails of her fingers scoring deep as her grip tightened with each ripple of sensation.  Her breath coming in ragged gasps, she couldn't keep the sobs of desire from escaping. She felt Bryce's warm breath at her neck, followed by his lips, even his teeth, nipping at the skin there. He slid his fingers further towards their destination, teasing, tempting, _torturing_ her to such degrees that she wanted to scream at him to stop. Finally, she managed to bring his motions to a halt, her hands grabbing around his wrist and tugging it away from the area … only to feel the other slide beneath her arm and capture one of her breasts tightly. "Oh, M-Maker!" she breathed, feeling her body beginning to shudder.

Bryce’s chuckle was a deep rumble of satisfaction. Turning her so that she was laying back on their bedrolls, he leaned forward and murmured, "That's the first time I've ever been referred to as the Almighty!" He saw her momentary look of confusion turn into a small smile. Taking a calming breath, he told her, "Ellie, love, I need to hear it from you. If you truly do not want this, we will stop, I promise, but if you want to continue, I must hear it from you …."

Eleanor's breath caught at his words. Closing her eyes, she didn't notice the tears that fell until his fingertips began wiping them away. Opening them once more, she nodded at him and whispered, "I – I want this, Bryce.  Tonight … with you …."

Bryce groaned, leaning forward to kiss her again. The restraint he had been keeping contained to this point began to slip. He grasped the waistband of her trousers and yanked them the remaining distance down her long, slender, shapely legs until they were out of the way. All that remained were her smallclothes which he removed next with yet another frantic tug.

Eleanor felt numb. She knew what was about to happen, she wanted it as much as he. But she was worried. Certainly because she had never been with a man before, but more so because she did not know if any of this would change their relationship at all. They were just becoming something more than friends at this point, maybe, plus they were on the run from men who wanted him and perhaps even her now dead.

Bryce pulled away from her for a moment, rising just enough to remove his own clothing as quickly as he could.  Eleanor watched the process through fascinated eyes, all the while hoping that she was making the right choice.

Bryce could see her eyes wandering over his chest in the dim light provided by the fire. Lifting her hand, he pressed it there and told her quietly, "Touch me as I touch you, Ellie. I want you to enjoy this as much as I."

Eleanor blushed and tried to pull her hand away but he would not let her. "Bryce …"

Undeterred, he lowered her hand to his ribs, his other mimicking the action on her. "I plan to touch every inch of your body tonight," he growled huskily. "I sincerely hope you will return the favor in kind…."

Eleanor shuddered as his hands returned to fulfill his promise. Her arms, her shoulders … then further down towards her legs, and other more intimate destinations. She began to tremble as his fingers returned to their previous destination … and then explored further.

Bryce leaned forward to kiss her deeply as he slowly slid a finger inside of her. Her breathing was shallow, her skin sporting a light sheen of sweat. She moaned softly, barely able to keep her focus on touching him in return, but he noted that she tried. When her body began to shake with more force, giving in to needs that it instinctually understood, Bryce moved himself over her. "Eleanor," he whispered, his voice tight. He saw her struggle to open her eyes, to look into his. "Love, please!"

Allowing her instincts to guide her, Eleanor shifted her position just enough to give him the access he requested. Though she knew vaguely enough what to expect, Eleanor felt a moment of panic seize her as his body covered hers fully.  She suddenly felt confined.  Trapped.  Penned in.  He moved quickly and carefully, pushing his hips forward even as he leaned over to kiss a path along her jaw and cheekbone until he was near her ear. "Ellie …?"

Eleanor nodded in response to his half formed question. "I'm – I'm okay," she insisted a moment later, though her own voice sounded tight. He paused for a moment, holding himself still and allowing her time to accept him, and Eleanor could not keep from reaching a hand up to his face, caressing his cheek, running her fingers through the dark auburn waves she found there. She lifted her other hand until both now framed his face. In the process, her body readjusted its position and she groaned, her eyes shooting to meet his while widening in surprise as waves of pleasure began tickling their way through her body.

Bryce, by now almost beyond the point of self control, saw the fire return to her eyes then. Deciding to take a chance, he began moving, slowly at first and then gaining momentum. He recognized the signs that she was beginning to enjoy it - her breathing catching once more, her eyes widening, the pupils dilating; little mewling noises that began as soft rumbles in her chest and bubbled up until they burst forth in every intensifying cries.  Her body was beginning to respond to his actions, and it fueled his own response.  He groaned her name with each thrust, each motion taking him closer and closer to the final drop off into oblivion until finally … he saw in her eyes as she found her own release, and then he sought his own.

Eleanor groaned again minutes later, moving slightly to discover a heavy weight against her, pinning her. Opening her eyes, she finally focused on a face she was learning to love, eyes as blue as the sea and hair of such a shade of chestnut …. She looked away as the intensity of his gaze became too much to bear.

Bryce chuckled at the blush that crept up her neck. "Don't you think it's a little late for that?" he teased gently. His laughter continued softly as she ducked her head, curling it against his chest, beneath his chin. He rolled so that his weight was off of her and then pulled her back against his chest. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he held her close and whispered near her ear, "You are mine, Ellie!" He felt her curl her body against his as she replied softly, "As you are mine."


	11. Learning

Bryce walked ahead of Eleanor, at his own insistence, doing what he could to block the worst of the wind and snow as they slowly traversed the mountain ridge through the worsening storm. For the umpteenth time now, Eleanor thanked the Maker that they had left the horses behind with the dwarven merchant!  They would never have made it beyond the first day if the animals had come with them.

As it stood now, she and Bryce had attached a length of rope securely around each of their waists just in case one slid off the side of the mountain againor, more accurately, in case Eleanor slipped and began to slide over.  Both knew that if Bryce were to go over the edge, they would both be joining the Maker together.

The earlier incident had been a terrifying one for each of them.  Bryce had reacted on instinct, almost as if he’d foreseen what could happen though even he admitted it had been pure chance he was turning back to ask her a question as her feet slid from beneath her.  After that, it was a matter of reflexes, honed over years of training and battle, as his hand shot out and grasped hers before she’d fallen too far over the edge.  In short time, he had her back up onto the ledge, pulled tightly into his arms as they both moved as far away from the ledge as possible.  

The near miss resulted in an early stop for the day’s travel.  And, after the initial shock wore off, it had also prodded them into talking more in depth with one another.  Nothing, it seemed, was too inconsequential for discussion after that.

As they continued on their journey, it also became clear (to Eleanor at least.  For all she knew, Bryce was well aware) that without the horses and having to climb and descend all of the mountains by foot, their journey couldn't have progressed very far, let alone anywhere near Orzammar which was where they hoped to exit the Frostbacks.  This trip, it seemed, was going to take at least twice as long as they had originally thought, maybe even longer than that, and the danger was not likely to abate anytime soon.

At the moment, however, it was all Eleanor could do to simply put one foot in front of the other and force herself forward. Three months ago, they had entered the mountains, and since their night together, their relationship had blossomed. _The only thing that could grow in this Maker forsaken weather!_ she thought idly as she stared down at the snow and ice covered path beneath her feet. It wasn't just that they were sleeping together. Bryce had been slowly, steadily showing her in both little ways and some more obvious that she was important to him, that he loved her and wanted to be with her because of who she was, not because of the promise he had made to Iain. And Eleanor was trying to do the same in return.

Today, Bryce was attempting to maintain a steady pace as they trudged their way through snow that reached to their knees at some points, and a wind that drove the chill straight through the layers of clothing and armor and deep into the bone. His shield became a barrier to the wind and blowing snow. His sword he occasionally used to check depth, solidity and any other method of self-preservation that was necessary. This had become their routine, traveling during daylight hours only, finding caves to rest in whenever possible to reduce the chance of getting a tent buried beneath inches upon inches of snow and ice.

Food was scarce; they had known it would be. Occasionally, they would come across a rabbit or even one of the more unique mountain goats so rare in Ferelden these days. But more days than not, they would simply go hungry as nothing was available. Eleanor gave little thought to the changes occurring to her body as time passed because of this. She'd seen the poor, the starving folk in the villages in her father’s bannorn while assisting in her charity duties in his name. She knew well what the terms 'malnutrition' and 'starvation' both looked like. She did not even think to challenge that the changes she was experiencing were anything but related to those.  She was not alone in this, either.  Bryce, too, was showing signs, his features much more gaunt than when she rescued him off the battlefield at White River.  All the more reason to force themselves forward so that they might reach the end of this journey.

While the days presented unlimited and unending challenges against nature and the elements, of an evening they would sit close together, sharing warmth, affection and, above all else, information.  Though the sharing of such things had been awkward at first, after the initial stages of discomfort, both came to realize the benefits of it.  They shared whatever things they could think of on a given night.  Silly things.  Important things.  Stories of their individual pasts which, though painful at first, eased as time and discussion helped them heal.  The one thing they both silently agreed to _not_ discuss for the time being was the future.  That would work out as the Maker willed it, and there was no sense worrying over what might or might not happen.  At least, not while they were still traversing the Frostbacks.  After they made it to Highever, then they could look forward.

“Tell me about your mother,” Eleanor asked one evening, snuggled to his side beneath her heavy cloak and staring into the fire as the flames danced about.  “What was she like?”

His arm tightened around her, the only indication he had heard her question, and for a moment, Eleanor wondered if he would respond.  “She was … beautiful,” he finally replied, his eyes focused on the flames of the fire.  “Iain looked quite a bit like her.”

Eleanor glanced up.  “Really?”

Bryce nodded, chuckling softly.  “Blond hair and brown eyes - those he got from our mother,” he explained.  “Square jaw and Cousland stubbornness, our father.”

Eleanor grinned at him.  “Apparently, he was not the only one on the receiving end of _that_ trait,” she teased.

Sighing, Bryce nodded.  “I will own that,” he agreed.  “Some of the time, at least.”  His head tilted slightly.  “I remember once when I was … oh, maybe eight or nine years.  My mother found me hiding on the battlements, watching the ships out in the Waking Sea.  Iain and I had argued, you see, and I presumed my parents would scold me something fierce when I saw them that evening at dinner.”  He glanced down at her, smiling.  “Not wanting to face such a drastic fate, I chose not to join them.”

Eleanor giggled softly, biting her lip to keep it from evolving into full fledged laughter.  “What was the nature of your disagreement with Iain?” she asked.

Bryce’s cheeks darkened slightly.  “I was jealous,” he admitted after a moment.  “That he looked more like our mother and I did not.”

Reaching out, Eleanor brushed some of his dark auburn hair away from his eyes.  “Why?” she asked.

“I have no idea,” he admitted.  “El, that was nearly twenty years ago!”

Another giggle escaped.  “Fine.  What did your mother say when she found you?”

Bryce sighed.  Settling back against the padding of his bedroll, he began playing with the tail of the braid running down her back.  “As I recall, she found me in the shadows of the battlements, staring out at the sea.  I refused to speak at first, believing that if I said nothing, she would never know what happened.”  He flashed Eleanor a wry grin.  “Nine year old logic.”

Eleanor’s smile widened.  “Sounds about right,” she agreed.  “What happened next?”

“Well, my mother was stubborn in her own right,” he pointed out, laughing when Eleanor groaned in dismay, “and she would not leave until I explained what happened.  I finally gave in and told her in the hopes that it would convince her to leave.  It, of course, had the opposite effect.”

“Oh?”

He nodded.  “Instead of leaving me to my misery, my mother sat down next to me.  She took my hand and proceeded to talk to me about why the Maker chose to create such a wide variety of people in the world.”

“So … your mother played the Chantry Sister card?”

Bryce choked on his laughter before firmly tugging her braid once. “No,” he rasped once he could speak again.  “My mother gave me a lesson in why it was wonderful that I looked like I did and that my younger brother looked like he did and that we should not be jealous of one another.”  

His voice trailed off into silence, his arm sliding to her hip and pulling her closer.  When next he spoke, it was in a more subdued tone.  “Three years later she was gone.”

Eleanor slid her hand across his chest and hugged him tightly.  “I’m so sorry,” she murmured, “and maybe this is insensitive of me to say, but … at least you had time to know her?  Short as it may have been, she still clearly loved you and -”

Bryce pressed a finger to her lips.  “Not insensitive,” he promised.  “I’d forgotten that you and your brother never had the chance to know your mother.”

Eleanor shrugged.  “Edward and I had each other.  My father, bless him, found a way to focus on us as a way to move beyond his loss.  Or so I was told.”  She sighed, her head coming to rest on his shoulder.  “He was attentive enough.  Encouraged us both in wherever our interests lay.  I wonder how he is now?”

Reaching for her hand, Bryce took it in his and lifted.  For a time, he focused intently on it, turning it so he could examine its shape from every angle.  “What?” Eleanor asked after several minutes.

“Oh, I was just curious how someone with so much skill with a bow could have such delicate hands.”

“Bryce!”  Eleanor laughed in embarrassment even as she tugged her hand free of his.  “Maker’s sake!”

“I am very serious,” he assured her.  

“Pfft.  I will have you know I am just as capable with a sword,” she retorted.

His brow lifted.  “Is that so?”

She nodded.  “I trained with Edward.  At least until he went off to serve Arl Bryland.”  The ache of loss of her twin attempted to sneak past the walls she had built, but she shoved it away.  Now was not the time.

“Tell me about him?”

Eleanor blinked.  “Who?  Edward?”

Bryce nodded.  “I think Iain knew him.”

Eleanor chuckled.  “He did.  I first met Iain because of Edward,” she admitted.  “I never did learn how they met, though.  All either of them told me was that it was in Denerim.”  She paused a long moment, thinking.  “Edward was my other … well, half, I guess.”  Her eyes drifted up to Bryce’s.  “It was a twin thing, I think.  We always seemed to know the other’s mood.  He and I shared similar interests.  Although,” she stressed, “not all of them.”

“When did he start serving Bryland?”

“Almost two years ago now.”  Her eyes closed and she dropped her forehead to rest on his shoulder.  “It seems a lifetime ago,” she whispered.  “Queen Moira and Prince Maric were in the area and father, Edward and I were invited to the meeting with some of the other banns from nearby.  Arl Bryland was there and Edward spoke with him, I guess.”  She shrugged.  “I was not even aware they had talked, to be honest.  Within a month, my father gave him his blessing and Edward left.  He wrote me when he could, kept me updated on the happenings, the state of the troops morale, that sort of thing.”  

She sat up facing him, drawing her legs to her chest so she could wrap her arms around them.  “I knew they would be at White River,” she continued, “and I felt his death when it came.”

Bryce frowned.  “Felt it?” he echoed.  “Were you there?”  He didn’t think she had been, but given his state of mind and bodily injuries at the time, he could have been mistaken.

“No, I was at home.”  Her eyes sought out and held his.  “I was in my father’s library when I felt … an absence.  A heavy one.  A deep, penetrating ache.”  She sighed.  “It is difficult to explain to someone who is not a twin, but we had a connection between us … and that connection was broken, and I just … knew.”

Bryce sat up and leaned towards her, though he did not reach for her.  “What did you do?”

Eleanor lifted her head, ignoring the tears that were now trailing slowly down her cheeks.  “I went to find him.”

“You make that sound so simple and natural,” he mused.  “Most Fereldans wouldn’t dare venture onto a recently abandoned battlefield.”

Eleanor sighed and shrugged.  “My father didn’t want me to go,” she admitted.  “I think, like you suggested, he was afraid to have me so close to the Orlesians, that they might mistake me for one of the combatants.  But I could not just sit around and wait!  There was nothing I could do for Edward save bring him home where he belonged so my father and I could mourn him.  So, despite his concerns, Nan and I left when he was busy elsewhere.”

They were silent for a time, each to their thoughts, the only sound the pop and crackle of the fire.  But after a time, Bryce said quietly, “You were brave to go after him.”

Eleanor snorted.  “Headstrong, you mean,” she countered, her eyes finding his again.

Bryce smiled.  “Stubborn?”

Eleanor smiled back.  “Stubborn,” she agreed.

Bryce extended a hand towards her and Eleanor took it.  Pulling her with him, Bryce leaned back once more and wrapped his arm around her as they settled beneath the blanket.  “You were meant to be a Cousland,” he murmured a moment later.

Eleanor chuckled.  “Is that so?”

Rolling onto his side, Bryce lifted a hand to brush away some loose curls that had pulled free from her braid and tucked them gently behind her ear.  “I think it is most definitely so,” he replied.

Eleanor sighed, her only response as he leaned towards her for a kiss was to smile back while meeting him head on.  

 


	12. Surprises

 

Some days their journey felt as if it was speeding by, one day a blur into the next.  Other days, it seemed as if it would take forever just to get through a single day.  Each day had a pattern of sorts with the only familiar thing in that pattern being that it could change at a moment’s notice.  They traveled.  They hunted.  They made camp.  They repeated the process.  Whatever order it occurred, it all still happened.

Whenever possible, Eleanor did their hunting.  Not only was she a better shot with her bow than Bryce, but her weapon left less damage to their meal than his sword.  They survived on what animals they came upon during their journey - mostly rabbits, rams.  More rarely, Bryce would attempt to fish out of a stream where he usually would have a fair chance of success.  Whatever their meat source, they supplemented it with what edible vegetation - fruits and berries mostly - they could find.  But despite their best efforts, finding enough food was becoming a challenge.

“Bryce, duck!”

By this point in their journey, Bryce knew better than to question her request and immediately did as asked.  No sooner had he hunkered over than one of Eleanor’s arrows shot through the air where his head had been.  Turning to follow the missile with his eyes, he saw it strike home in one of the rams milling about the area.  “Nice shot,” he called out as he straightened.  Glancing over at her, he added, “I guess we’re calling it a day then?”

Eleanor nodded.  Though she was smiling at him, he could read the utter exhaustion he saw in her face.  In the hunch of her shoulders.  In the slight tremble to her hand as she shouldered her bow.  Guilt twinged in his chest at having to put her through this, but she never once complained.  That, among other things, reminded him he had found a true partner where he had least expected it.

Crossing over to her kill, Bryce removed the arrow.  Handing it over to her, he shouldered the beast and nodded at her to take the lead.  “There must be some place we can stay around here,” he said.

It took the better part of an hour, but they finally found a suitable cave in the side of the mountain that protected them from the elements.  While Eleanor took care of setting up their camp and preparing the ram for their meal, Bryce retreated outside to gather up enough firewood for the night.  This took several trips, but by the time he returned, he could smell the meat roasting over the fire.

“Where are we, do you think?”

Eleanor’s question was quiet as she served him dinner that night, but Bryce heard it over the crackle of the fire and the howling of the wind outside.  Sighing, he sat back against the a rock and considered.  “If I had to guess, I would say we have probably come as far north as the southern edge of Lake Calenhad,” he decided.  

Eleanor scooted over beside him, searching for shared warmth between the blanket he had spread out.  Curling herself against him, she nibbled at her food.  “In four months?” she asked.  “Surely we have gone farther.”

Bryce shook his head and used his sleeve to wipe some of the grease from the food off of his face.  “It only feels like it because we have to go up and down these mountains,” he explained.  “We could have gone further if there was a straight path through.”

Sighing, Eleanor rested her head against his shoulder.  For a time she was silent, slowly eating her meal as the time passed.  “It’s too bad we can’t find one of the dwarven entrances,” she murmured.  She had met a few dwarves over the years, surfacers who made their living trading outside of Orzammar.  “Might be a quicker path north.”

Bryce shook his head.  “Not necessarily,” he replied.  “I’ve been to Orzammar once.  One of the noble houses wanted to set up a specific trade arrangement with Highever.”

Eleanor’s eyes widened.  “Oh?  What was it like?”

Bryce considered for a moment.  “We were only inside the city of Orzammar itself for a few hours to conduct the meetings,” he explained, “so I didn’t see much, but what I did was … different.  It is strange to be in a city and not see the sky above you like we are used to.”

“I can imagine,” she murmured.  Eleanor leaned forward and tossed the animal bone she had denuded of its meat into the fire. While moving, she felt Bryce's hand sliding up to her shoulder, unconsciously and instinctively protecting her from falling into the blaze, but at the same time brushing against her breast in the process. Caught unawares by the sudden pain and sensitivity that flared as a result, Eleanor could not hold back a harsh, rasping breath.

As close as they were to each other, Bryce did not miss the sound and released her immediately.  He sat up straight, a look of concern crossing his features as he turned towards her. "What's wrong?" he asked, his concern evident.

Eleanor shook her head as she sat back, leaning into his shoulder once more, but covering her breasts with crossed arms. "Nothing," she returned as she settled against him. "I’m fine.  Just a bit sore is all …."

Bryce wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. "Is this from that fall yesterday?" Eleanor had slipped on a patch of ice hidden beneath the snow the previous afternoon and had gone down very hard. So hard, in fact, she knocked the air from her lungs had trouble breathing afterwards for several minutes.

"No," she returned, her brain kicking into overdrive to determine the cause. "It's nowhere near that area." She snuggled closer to him, turning so their bodies fit closer together. Again she brushed against him and, like before, she couldn't swallow back the whimper of pain.

Bryce turned towards her, pushing Eleanor's cloak off of her shoulders. "It was the other side this time?"

She nodded. “Bryce,” she protested as he began bunching up her shirts – she had taken to wearing two due to the extreme cold they had encountered in the mountains, “I’m fine!   It’s just a little soreness.  Probably just because of the cold.”  

He pulled her hand to hold the fabric out of his way, tucking it just beneath her chin. Eleanor frowned as his fingers deftly began unlacing and removing her breastband. Despite their intimate relationship and the fact that it was only the two of them sitting here, Eleanor found herself blushing in embarrassment. "Bryce, Maker’s breath - stop!"

Bryce allowed her to lower her hand and her shirts, though he set the breastband aside for the moment. He caught her gaze, saw her ever growing frustration, and offered her a tentative smile.  While he attempted to remain reassuring, hoping not to let her on to the fact that he was worried, the look in her eyes informed him that he had failed in that regard.

Pursing her lips, Eleanor shoved him away lightly, straightening her shirts so that they covered her completely once more and blocked the cold from getting through. "Done playing nursemaid?" she demanded testily while reaching to pull her cloak more snugly to her frame, pointedly moving just out of his reach.

Bryce chuckled a little in embarrassment. "Sorry," he murmured apologetically. He patted the seat beside him, encouraging her to move closer. After a few moments of stubborn refusal, Eleanor finally gave in and sidled up next to him, laying her head upon his shoulder. She wasn’t really angry with him, just a little out of sorts at his manhandling but more because she didn’t have the vaguest idea what was wrong with her.

"I need to talk with you about something, El," he murmured into her hair.  

Eleanor was being lulled to sleep by the warmth of his body and from the fire. "Hmmm?" she finally managed.

"El," he said again a bit more sharply in an effort to keep her focused, shaking her gently.

Reluctantly, Eleanor pulled back from the edges of unconsciousness.  "What?"

"I need to know the last time you had your menses," he said softly. He looked down at her, searching her face, her eyes. He saw the confusion first, the struggle to sort out in her head why he was asking her this. Soon it switched to thoughtful and he could almost see her counting back the days inside her head … and immediately thereafter he saw her eyes shoot wide, the shock and fear in them causing his heart to sink.

"Right after I found you …!" she whispered, the blood draining from her already pale features. She saw Bryce reaching a hand out towards her, but panic gave her speed, and she scooted backwards from his touch. "Oh, Maker, what have I done?!" she whispered.

_Oh Maker indeed!_ Bryce thought momentarily. He took a deep breath. "Ellie?" he called softly, keeping his hand extended while silently wishing her to take it, but not willing to force the issue. Coming to know her better over the past few months, he understood and accepted that their relationship would have to be on her terms. "Ellie, please come sit by me."

Eleanor shook her head. "I-I can't!" she breathed in a panic. "I'm - Maker’s breath, Bryce, if I’m,” she swallowed tightly, struggled, but could not say the word, her hand dropping to cover her belly instead, “then I’m n-no better than a com-common whore!"

Bryce jumped to his feet and immediately stalked to her side. Though she could see anger in his body language, in his jerky movements, he was gentle when he reached down to help pull her to her feet beside him. Placing his hands around her face, he turned her to face him.  His eyes seeking out hers and holding them, he murmured to her with utmost sincerity, "In this place, in this hour as I encounter Andraste, the Maker's bride, in these mountains, I take you as my wife, my soulmate, my love and my joy throughout the years to come, however many or few we may have together." He watched as large tears rolled down her cheeks. With a smile, he reached up to wipe them away with the pads of his thumbs while adding, "Eleanor, from the moment we met, you have been teaching me how to love you.  You are mine.  I am yours.  The child is ours, proof of our love.  It is that simple."

Eleanor dropped her head to his chest, her tears increasing their pace. "I-I …." She sighed heavily, quiet for a long moment before reaching out to take his hand and pull it over to cover her belly as well. "I don't know how to say it like you," she finally whispered past continued tears. "But, you have taught me how to … to love again … how to feel more than the pain of loss …." She looked back up at him with tears still leaking from the corners of her eyes. "I take you as my husband, my soulmate, my love and my joy throughout the years to come, however many or few we may have together …," she echoed. And when his arms pulled her close, held her as if she was a very precious and important part of him, Eleanor released any remaining doubt she may have had about him and found her peace at last.

 


	13. Transitions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. June at work is a very busy time and by the time I'd get home, the idea of posting was just too much at the end of a very exhausting day! However, should be back on the weekly posting track now!

 

Bryce stood there in the cold and wind, Eleanor leaning against him for support, both physical and emotional, as the guard continued to deny them entrance to the village. "All we want to do is trade for supplies!" Bryce insisted. "We do not plan to stay any longer than it takes for us to restock provisions for our journey!"

"Sorry. No visitors are allowed to enter Haven."

Eleanor, exhausted as she was, bit out, "Rather insolent of you to call you village Haven if you do not plan to offer it as such!" She felt Bryce's hand at her waist squeeze gently, reminding her to calm down. Sighing, she leaned into his arms more.

"Please," Bryce begged, "my wife is pregnant. All we want is to get some food provisions to help us along our journey! If our weapons bother you that much, we can leave them here and retrieve them on our way out after we have traded."

Another guard walked by them and, noticing the confrontation, approached. Bryce took the time to reiterate his arguments. Both guards stepped aside after the second was brought up to date so they could discuss the matter and finally the second guard nodded at them. "The store is up that way," he told them, pointing up a slope. "You may keep your weapons with you. Just go and make your purchases and then leave us."

"Thank you!" Bryce replied, placing his arm around Eleanor's back and beginning to lead her in the direction indicated. As they started towards the store, he leaned down towards Eleanor and asked, "Are you all right?"

Eleanor leaned into his shoulder. "I'm fine," she replied quietly.  She was tired, hungry, and cold, but the anger that had boiled up moments before had bled back out just as quickly.

The slope was far from gentle, yet Eleanor continued to surprise Bryce with her strength both in character and physicality. Sure, she was leaning upon him for support just now, but there was an edge of steel beneath the surface that kept her going. There were days of late, Bryce knew, when that was all that kept her - and by association, him - going.  

They arrived at the store a short time later and found it empty of people but for the owner. Bryce spoke briefly to the man who finally managed to find a spare crate for Eleanor to sit on and rest while he and Bryce got down to brass tacks trading.

By the end of the transaction, Bryce managed to barter for enough food supplies to last them nearly two weeks, some health potions and additional blankets, clothing and other items he felt they might need in the upcoming months. He glanced at Eleanor and saw that she was falling asleep. As a final act because he knew he and Eleanor had to get moving again, Bryce asked, "Do you know if there are any other towns or villages between here and Orzammar?"

The man shook his head. "I've never been outside the village," he told him. "And I don't know that anyone here has … except perhaps, Revered Father Eirik."

Eleanor and Bryce exchanged a brief look. With a slight shake of his head, Bryce kept Eleanor silent. "Might the Revered Father be free to speak with?" he asked.

The man, Bode he claimed his name to be, shook his head. "No, sorry, ser. The Revered Father is up in the Chantry leading the daily prayers. He won't be done for hours yet."

Bryce nodded in understanding … and hoped he kept his concern hidden. "Thank you for your assistance. My wife and I really should be going. We will simply have to trust our luck."

The man nodded and held the door for them as they exited. Bryce led Eleanor back the way they had come and eventually out of Haven, past the guard with whom they initially had their disagreement. Only then, when they were well out of earshot, did Eleanor, still taking precautions, lean further into his arms and whisper, "There is a great evil there, Bryce.  I could almost feel it."

Bryce nodded. He could hear the fear in her voice and felt the shudder that ran through her body. Maker knew, he felt the same after that experience. There _was_ something evil there. "I think it is best we left when we did," he agreed. Squeezing her tighter in reassurance, he added, "Let's get moving. I don't know about you, but I am feeling an increasing need to place a greater distance between us and this village before we make camp."

Eleanor nodded.  She had no desire to argue with him about it.

~ n ~

So unnerved by their experience in the village were they that Bryce and Eleanor decided to push on hard the remainder of daylight afforded to them. They stopped only briefly to eat a little something, to drink some water, to give Eleanor a chance to rest. It was later that afternoon, after placing several miles between themselves and the town of Haven, that Bryce finally led Eleanor into yet another cave for the night. Never had stone walls seemed more welcoming than they did that night.  "You know," he teased as he was assisting her to the ground to sit, "when this is all over and done with, I don't think I will ever be able to come back and enjoy the mountains again!"

Eleanor actually laughed at his comment, releasing the tension she had held in since that morning in the village as she sat back against her bedroll. "I am in complete agreement with you there," she told him.

Bryce left the packs near her, heading off to find what he could in the way of firewood and meat for their evening meal. If he could, he wanted to preserve the goods they managed to find in Haven for the times that they absolutely had to have it. Maker only knew how long it would be before they came upon another village that would be willing to barter with them. And with Eleanor being pregnant, well, Bryce knew he would go without before he would ever allow her to.

It was getting dark when Bryce finally returned to the cave, his arms laden with a suitable amount of fuel.  Dropping the pile nearby, he brushed the debris from his clothing before he turned towards Eleanor.  But the sight that greeted him was not one he was expecting, and he felt dread drop heavily in his chest.  

Still seated on the ground, the packs lying where Bryce had left them, Eleanor sat with her arms wrapped around her swollen waistline, eyes tightly closed. It was this last that spurred him into action.  Terrified beyond reasoning, Bryce rushed over to her side, dropping to his knees beside her and reaching out to touch her arm.  "Ellie! Are you all right?" When she glanced up at him, he felt his heart drop further. "What is it, El?"

Eleanor, unable to stop the flow of tears once it began, reached for his hand. She gripped it for a long moment, then moved it to where their child slept. "He – he moved, Bryce!" she breathed in awe. She pulled on his arm to make him sit beside her. "He turned over and – I - !"

Bryce felt it then: the light, fluttery movement against his hand, knowing in that moment that he would never feel anything quite like the love he already held for his unborn child. Eleanor moved his hand, following the child's progress as he rolled for another few moments until finally the baby seemed to settle once more. Wrapping his arms around Eleanor, Bryce pulled her onto his lap and simply held her close for a long while. He could not hold back tears of joy that formed in his eyes, at the thought of the tiny little life that he and the woman he loved had created together.

 


	14. Preparations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would apologize for the delay in posting for this story, but those who follow me know what's been happening over the past few years, so I won't rehash it. And to be honest, I'm done apologizing for it. Suffice it to say that circumstances beyond my control contributed to the lack of attention I gave this piece, which is one of my most favorite of all the pieces I've ever written. 
> 
> Well, that ends now. I spent yesterday getting back into the swing of things, and I do mean 'swing' because parts of this took directions I had no idea they were going to take. That said, I think I can now safely finish editing/updating this story and finally settle it where it needs to be. 
> 
> As a reminder to everyone -- this was written originally back in 2010, well before the World of Thedas Vol. 2 came out with canon information on Bryce and Eleanor. This is my headcanon for how they met and came together. When you see references in my other stories to them and their past, this is what I mean.

The day had been exhausting, as most were in the Frostbacks, and once seated for the evening, Eleanor remained before the fire, blankets drawn over her legs, her cloak pulled tightly around her shoulders.  Ultimately, she gave in to the needs of her body and collapsed, curling as tightly and comfortably as possible into a ball as she could. Bryce glanced over at her a time or two, concerned, but she mumbled acceptable responses to his questions, so he did not hover.  

He built the fire first. Warmth. Comfort. Then he focused on food. He sat outside the cave to clean and spit the hare he had startled as they neared the cave.  The smell alone was enough to make Eleanor gag these days. Once he had the meal over the fire and he cleaned up, he finally seated himself beside her.  She didn’t acknowledge his arrival.  Another wave of concern washed through him and he reached down to brush hair back from her face, but he was careful not to wake her.  She was so exhausted, she needed what sleep she could get.

 _I can't keep dragging her through the mountains like this_ , he realized while turning back to stare into the flames. _She's nearing the end. We have to find something more permanent. After the babe arrives, she won’t be able to travel like we have been, not for at least a month, more likely longer …._ Carefully leaving her side, he rose and approached the entrance to the cave and stared out at the horizon beyond. _We need a place where we can find food, game, where I won't have to leave her alone for too long at any given time._

Bryce was pulled back to Eleanor’s side when he heard a soft whimper. She shifted in her dreams occasionally, making noises, but she continued to sleep. _Tomorrow,_ he decided. _Tomorrow we find a place to stay for the duration_.

 

~ n ~

 

Eleanor sighed when Bryce halted their advance. _Maker, I tire too easily!_ she thought. Leaning back against the rock face, she turned to watch the man to whom she had tied herself, both literally and figuratively.  He stood near the edge of their trail, scouting out and about. He told her that morning that their goal this day was to find a location for a more permanent stay.  She had not argued; it was a relief to hear.

As she watched him now, pride filled her until she thought she might explode. She could not tell him in so many words just yet that she loved him, but as he had done the night they realized they would become a family, she silently reiterated her vows to him, intent upon keeping them. He offered her his love without question, his protection, his name …and all this from a man destined to be Teyrn Cousland of Highever.

 _Your uncle was right, little one_ , she thought while absently rubbing her belly, _your father is an honorable man. I hope you grow up to be just like him!_

Turning back to Eleanor, Bryce reached out a hand which she automatically took into her own. Gesturing below them, he asked, "Down there …. Can you see it?" She looked where he pointed and after a moment spent squinting and searching, she nodded. "Do you think you can make it down there?"

Eleanor gave him a smile. "We have to," she told him simply. She slid her arm around his waist as his wrapped along her back and up to her shoulder. It was awkward, but it would work.  Together they descended the mountain.

 

~ n ~

 

"Are you scared?"

Silence echoed in the empty cavern around them, it’s weight nearly as heavy as the words spoken.  Three words that both Eleanor and Bryce had been avoiding ever since discovering Eleanor's pregnancy. Three words that, answered honestly, could bring them closer together or, if not answered, could tear them apart.

Both were seated before the fire as the silence dragged out until finally, after a long moment, … Laughter, both had been taught over the years, could heal in unimaginable ways. It relaxed the body, helping it to feel at ease, and soothed the emotions. Their laughter, by mutual consent, resulted in smiles.

Sitting back, Bryce pulled Eleanor next to him, wrapping his arm around her, resting his hand upon their sleeping child. He found it odd just how quickly he had come to find comfort in that position.  "Not much longer, hmm?" he asked.

Eleanor laughed, pushing his arm into a more comfortable location for them both but still giving him the access he desired. "I hope not," she replied. "I truly had no idea I could get this … this large!"

"Ah, my love," he murmured near her ear as he nuzzled the area and felt her squirm slightly in reaction, "you are and will always be beautiful to me."

Eleanor smiled at him, thankful for his words, but doubts still teased. "The way I feel right now," she told him honestly, "I somehow doubt that."

Bryce watched her move, mostly by rolling her body, over to her sleeping pallet. "Would you like assistance?" he asked.

Eleanor sighed. Blowing loose tendrils of hair out of her eyes, she glanced over and replied with some wry amusement, "I look like a mabari wallowing in a mud puddle, don't I?"

Bryce struggled not to laugh. Though she was the one making the joke, he did not wish to hurt her feelings. But when she smiled, he knew it was okay and he let it out. Rising and moving to assist her, he responded, "I know better than to answer that sort of question."

Bryce stayed beside her for a time, stroking her long raven locks, now unbound, and offering her what comfort and companionship he could. He knew it wasn't much, or nearly enough, just as he knew that they should be someplace safe and warm with women around who knew how to help Eleanor as her time drew closer and the child eventually arrived. But that was not to be, and there was nothing he could do to change it.  Still, they had one another to rely upon.  That had to count for something.

 

~ n ~

 

“What are you working on?”

Eleanor glanced up from the sewing in her lap.  Or, at least it was the attempt at sewing.  Though her skill had never quite matched most of the ladies in their bannorn, her previous attempts had been passable enough.  She scrutinized her current project with a critical eye.   _Perhaps_ …  

“I am trying to make a wrap for the baby,” she explained, “from the rabbit skins you saved.”  He had, thankfully, cleaned and treated them outside of the cave.  She wasn’t sure if her stomach would have been able to handle it otherwise.

Bryce was seated near the fire having chosen to clean his weapons and armor, but set them aside for the moment and turned to face her.  “Oh?”

Eleanor nodded.  Lifting the several hides she had stitched together, she bit her lower lip and watched for his reaction.  She would be the first to admit her skills needed more practice compared to that she displayed with a bow or a blade, but still she was rather proud of her handiwork.  She wasn’t at all surprised when Bryce rose and moved over to sit beside her.

“Nicely done,” he told her, his fingers tracing where she had bound them together.  “I will say, I had something like this in mind for these skins.  But my abilities with a needle are virtually non-existent.”

Eleanor managed a warm smile.  She had no idea how truthful he was being just then, nor did she particularly care.  What she _did_ find reassuring was the fact that he had not teased her about it.  Later perhaps, but just then?  “Needlework wasn’t exactly my favorite pass time when I was younger,” she admitted to him.  “Edward used to say I made better holes with my blade than with my needle.”

Bryce chuckled, handing the furs to Eleanor and leaning over to place a kiss upon the crown of her head.  “Brothers can be a nuisance like that,” he agreed.  His hand moved to cover one of hers, momentarily resting upon the swell of her belly, and as he did so, he felt the child move.  Following the movement with his hand, Bryce sat up, a awe-filled smile meeting her gaze as she watched.  “He certainly is active today,” he observed.

Eleanor snorted softly.  “Not just today!” she reminded him.  The reality of it was that the child -- and Eleanor often teased Bryce that it was him the child was taking after when he did such things -- tended to select the most inconvenient times to become active.  Of late, he particularly seemed to enjoy waking her up in the middle of the night from deep sleep.

Chuckling, Bryce wrapped both arms around her and held her close.  “At least we know he fares well,” he pointed out.  “And that is good news.”

Sighing, Eleanor relaxed into his embrace.  It was difficult to argue with him when she agreed.  

 

~ n ~

 

Normally of a morning, Bryce was the first to rise.  Aside from allowing Eleanor the opportunity to rest as much as possible, he preferred to be the early riser so he could stir the fire back to life and heat up their home, such as it was, so that when she _did_ wake, the temperatures were more manageable.  Still, there were times that she awoke before him, mostly due to the child’s active nature.  

Today was one of those days.  Sitting up from his bedroll, Bryce looked around until he found Eleanor standing near the cave’s entrance.  Taking a moment to pull himself together, he followed her path, coming to stand behind her.  Sliding his arms around her waist, he looked out before them over her shoulder trying to determine what had caught her attention.  “Good morning.”

Eleanor leaned back against him and smiled.  “Good morning.  I have a question, silly as it might sound,” she told him.

Bryce tightened his arms around her before releasing his hold and turning her to face him.  “Not silly,” he promised as he brushed a few strands of hair back from her eyes.  “What is it?”

Eleanor’s eyes were bright with … mischief?  Bryce’s head tilted as he realized that.  Eleanor reacted with an impish grin.  “Ellie, what are you up to?” he asked.

“I want to play out in the snow,” she told him simply.

Surprise had his eyes widening.  Fresh snow had fallen overnight blanketing the area outside their cave.  A second look and Bryce could now see the draw that the newness of it had.  Still …  “Are you sure you should?” he asked.  “I don’t want you or the child to get hurt.”

Leaning up on her toes, Eleanor brushed a quick kiss to his cheek before she stepped back and pulled her cloak tight.  “We will be fine, Bryce.  Just for a few minutes.”  She blinked up at him, excitement sparkling in her eyes and adding a light flush to her cheeks.  “Please?”

Sighing, Bryce admitted that it was the first time in several weeks he had seen Eleanor this energetic.  It was a relief to see, of course, but brought with it its own set of worries.  After another minute or two of consideration, he relented.  “Alright, a few minutes only.”  Her smile widened, if possible, as she reached for his hand, tugging.  

The cave was in a valley and fairly level with the ground surrounding it.  Outside, Bryce released her hand, taking a moment to stand alone and raise his arms above his head, stretching.  It was as he began to lower them again he realized his mistake ....

… and ended up with a loosely packed snowball striking at the base of his neck.  Before he had time to reach up and brush it away, it began trickling and oozing beneath his collar.  “Gaaahhh!”

Eleanor, laughing at her victory, shouted, “That should teach you to lower your guard!”

Bryce spun around, searching for her while reaching for a handful of snow himself.  In the end, however, he caught himself.  Seeing her like this, happy and smiling again, was well worth a little bit of discomfort.  Crossing over to her, he reached for her hand and tugged when she gave it to him.  He brought her over as close as he could before he leaned over to kiss her.  “It’s good to know I am bound to a bodyguard so concerned about my personal safety,” he replied.

Eleanor met his gaze and leaned into the kiss.  “I hope that our son grows to be like you,” she told him honestly a moment later.  

Bryce smiled back, hugging her as best he could.  This was a familiar discussion between them, and one he could honestly say left him breathless at the thought.  “And I hope our daughter grows to be just like you,” he replied.  

Hand in hand, they returned inside the cave together.

 


	15. Arrivals

 

A few days later, as he assisted Eleanor to sit beside the fire, he announced, "I am going to get some game.  Be a good girl while I am gone!"

Eleanor laughed, which Bryce thought made the day a success already since she had woken up irritable and achy that morning. He didn't want to leave her, suspecting that the birth would occur sooner rather than later, but he knew he needed to hunt now while he had the chance. He saw her reach for and pull her bow and quiver close beside her, within an arm’s reach. "Go," she told him reassuringly. And then almost echoing his earlier thoughts, she added, "The sooner you go, the sooner you will be back!" She knew he was afraid for her.

Eleanor sighed softly when Bryce finally turned the corner and exited the cave. She waited a good twenty count just to make sure he didn’t return, and only then did she struggle to her feet. Once upright, she stumbled over to their cache of supplies in the back of the cave, searching through them and sorting out the items she would need later ....

 

~ n ~

 

Though he had never had much luck with the bow in past, Bryce felt a certain sense of jubilation and success about the three rabbits he caught. So it was with a smile on his face and the image of how surprised Eleanor would be at his surprise that he approached the cave later that day.  That fled in an instant.  He didn’t make it to the mouth of the cave before he heard the most bloodcurdling scream he had ever encountered before in his life.  Depositing the rabbits near the entrance, he prayed silently to the Maker he never had to hear Eleanor cry out like that again.

Inside, he dropped his bow and quiver near the entrance and ran the rest of the way in.  It took a moment to locate her in the dimness, but he finally found her further back inside the cave, well away from the fire and leaning her weight against her arms on the stone wall.  He hurried over to her side. "Ellie!"

Eleanor opened her eyes, pain evident behind the emerald green orbs. "Yo-you're back?" she managed, weakly lifting a hand to his face.

Bryce nodded, sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her close to give her support. "How long ago did this start?" he asked, no doubt now that her time had indeed come.

"Overnight …," she whispered, groaning as she felt the start of another sharp pain.

Bryce echoed the sound. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked automatically. Then he shook his head.  That wasn’t important.  "Never mind," he told her. "How can I help?"

"Walk …," she told him, obviously struggling with the pain just then. "I want to … walk."

Bryce nodded, not inclined to argue with her. She had told him before that she had attended births in the past, which was more than he could say for himself. Tightening his arm around her middle, he helped her waddle slowly around their home. "Lean on me if you want," he told her in what he hoped was a calm tone. "I'm going to leave it up to you to tell me what you want or need." She nodded, her head against his shoulder.

They walked for what seemed like and probably was hours. Occasionally they paused when a particularly bad pain hit, or when Eleanor wanted a drink of water. Eleanor outright refused food, but insisted that Bryce eat his own meal first, then clean the rabbits he had caught. "Everything must be … normal …," she insisted.

Bryce humored her, though he was not by any means certain it was the right course of action. For food, he relied on some of the leftovers from the previous night. While he ate, Eleanor insisted she remain standing, which she did using the walls for support. The soft, periodic cries that she made nearly tore his heart out for fear of her safety and the baby's, but Bryce was focused on pleasing her and keeping her calm, so he did nothing to voice his concerns.

When he returned to her side some time later, he led her around the cave again. He could tell that she was progressing by the frequency of her cries, as well as their tone. The further along she progressed, the deeper and more guttural her cries became. At one point, she stopped moving, bending nearly double.  She cried out in pain, nearly falling to her knees as she released her hold on Bryce and wrapped her arms around her belly. Moments later, Bryce could see liquid pooling on the stone at her feet.

Slipping an arm around her shoulders, he slowly led her to their bedroll. "Time to lie down?"

Eleanor nodded, but moved first to remove her clothing and change into one of the large linen shirts he had purchased for her in Haven. As she did so, Bryce watched in horrified fascination: she was much, much too slender for someone this pregnant, another wave of guilt washed over him.

Eleanor finally found a comfortable position on her side, and begged Bryce to sit beside her. He agreed after making sure they had what they needed for the delivery within close range. Taking her hand in his, he adjusted their positions, placing her head upon his lap.  At a loss what to do just then, he eventually began talking. He told her stories of growing up with Iain at Highever. He described his years of training as a sword and shield warrior, received at the hands of an uncle who lived closer to Jader but still within the boundaries of Ferelden.  

Each minute that passed seemed an eternity, and Bryce felt hopelessness creeping up on him. He had witnessed animals -- sheep, cows, pigs … even mabari war hounds -- give birth before, but nothing that ever lasted quite as long as this.  And the sounds she made -- to say it left him fearful was an understatement.  Was there something wrong with the child?  Or with Eleanor?  Would he lose one or, worse yet, the both of them before this ordeal was over simply because he did not have the knowledge needed to assist properly?

Eleanor rested as she could, knowing she would need her strength at the end. She too, noted that the process was taking longer than it should, and she recalled stories she’d overheard the servants tell of her mother's delivery … and subsequent death.  She prayed fervently but silently that her own outcome would not be the same.

Bryce felt Eleanor's hand against his, squeezing tight, stirring him out of his catnap. Leaning towards her immediately, he murmured, "I am here."

When the pain passed, Eleanor told him haltingly, "I need to tell you something …."

Bryce nodded, taking the moment to lie down beside her so their faces were close. He maintained the grip on her hand, and placed his other on her belly to feel her contractions as they came. "I am listening, love," he promised.

Eleanor nodded as another pain began and she took a deep breath. "M-my mother," she panted through the pain, "she … she died … giving me and … Edward … life."

Bryce nodded, hoping the sudden fear creeping up his spine would not be noticeable. "You will be fine," he whispered near her ear. "Both you and our child will be fine."  He had to believe that, for to think of losing either of them, let alone both, was simply not an option.  In response to his words, he watched her turn her head so that her eyes, dulled with pain and fatigue, could lock onto his. The moment they did, he thought he could see her drawing in what little strength she still had. It took him a moment to realize something was finally beginning to happen. "Now?" he asked.

Panting harshly, she nodded. "Now!"

They had discussed earlier how Eleanor wanted to proceed with things. He explained to her of his limited experience of birthing with animals; she admitted to her assistance of the poorer folk in the towns and villages around her father's estate. Eleanor insisted she wanted to deliver while on her hands and knees, like some of the animals he had witnessed in the past, and Bryce did not argue. Helping her into that position now, Bryce silently hoped it would work.

Eleanor closed her eyes against the pain as wave after wave rolled over and through her at a nearly constant rate.  It never seemed to stop or to even give her a pause in which she could catch her breath.  She tried swallowing it, holding it in so that Bryce wouldn't have to see or hear. His hand was at her back, rubbing soothingly, and she tried to focus on that. She heard him murmur near her ear, but she could not make out the words due to the noise for, in the distance, she could hear the echoes of screams, and only belatedly realized that they must be her own.

Bryce felt utterly and completely useless just then, but he kept his promise to her as best he could. "You are almost there, Ellie," he told her encouragingly, one hand at her belly to feel for movement, the other at her shoulder to offer reassurance as he could. "You are doing fine. Just a little longer …."

And then, quite suddenly, it was over. Bryce recognized what was occurring not a moment too soon and shifted so that he could catch the infant in his large and rather unsteady hands, only reaching for some linens to clean the squalling child once he slipped free of his mother’s body. Bryce glanced up, noting Eleanor was about to collapse, and he moved the babe into the crook of his arm so that he could use the other to ease Eleanor down and onto the bed roll.

Quickly, efficiently, Bryce cleaned the child, chuckling delightedly when his son began protesting his first bath. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eleanor move slightly at the sound, and he increased his pace to complete what needed to be done.  Introductions needed to be made.

Eleanor's eyes were closed, her body sore and aching, but the sound of the baby left her heart bursting with joy. Within moments, Bryce was laying the child on the blankets beside her. "I need your help, my love," he told her while placing a brief kiss upon her forehead. "Greet your son while I … attend to a few things."

"A … a son?" she breathed, turning just a bit and staring down into the infant's dark eyes. The child stopped fussing the moment she spoke as if recognizing her voice. Unable to restrain tears, Eleanor managed to bring her hand up to touch his fingers with her own, lightly stroking along his cheek, gently tracing the shape of his tiny button nose. "Welcome to our world, little one," she told him quietly.

Eleanor knew not how long it was before Bryce completed his tasks and moved beside her once more. She felt the weight and warmth of the blanket he settled over her to ward off the chill, something she was beginning to feel once more now that her attention was not focused so centrally. The infant was sleeping, his eyes closed and his little breaths coming evenly. Turning her head to look up at Bryce, Eleanor could no longer hold back her tears. "Oh, Bryce!" she whispered feeling completely overwhelmed. She leaned into his embrace as his arms moved around her.  Never before in her life had she felt such a sense of security and love.

Bryce smiled into her hair. "You did it, Ellie," he said, kissing her cheek.

"Not without you," she said quietly.  Turning, she lifted her eyes to meet his. "Thank you."

Bryce shook his head, but only asked, "What shall we name him?"

Eleanor looked up at him, hopeful. "Iain?"

Bryce took his time considering.  It didn’t seem fair to him that his family should be the only one to reap the benefits of their firstborn and future heir to Highever, however.  "Iain Galen Cousland," he agreed, tying her family in. Reaching across Eleanor to touch his son’s tiny hand with his own, he whispered, "Welcome to our family, my son."

 


	16. Family

Recovery took time, of course, and it was time Eleanor desperately needed.  It was also time for their little family to get to know one another better.  As the days and weeks passed and little Iain began to grow, both mother and father grew as well, learning right alongside him.  

In the early days after Iain’s birth, Bryce never ventured too far from the cave that had become their home during this time, always close enough that should Eleanor need him in an emergency he would hear her call.  But as the weeks rolled by, the distance needed to travel and find food increased.  Iain was nearly three months old by their best estimation when the topic of leaving the cave and moving on became one that he and Eleanor could no longer ignore.

Seated next to the fire, his son sprawled across his chest in the contented sleep of an infant, Bryce glanced across the fire at Eleanor where she worked on their dinner.  “We will need to leave soon,” he murmured just loud enough for her to hear over the pop and crackling of the flames.  

Eleanor looked up, her eyes meeting his.  “I know,” she replied, her gaze dropping to take in the sight of father and son together.  She couldn’t keep a soft smile from turning at the corner of her lips.  

Sighing softly, Bryce considered their options.  “I hate to leave without having a good food supply to take with us,” he explained, “but the resources we have available are limited.”  Iain moved in his sleep, fussing just a bit, and Bryce’s hand shifted to hold him in place.  Evenings like this, the three of them together enjoying the simple pleasures of being a family together, were rapidly becoming moments he treasured most.

Eleanor’s smile widened as she watched Bryce’s attention shift to their son.  Her heart swelled to see them like this and she tucked the memories away to save for future days when life would become too complicated or the duties expected of the future Teyrn would require too much of his time.  She didn’t doubt he wouldn’t try to find the time to be with them when he could, especially after watching him take on the responsibilities of fatherhood these past three months, but Eleanor was pragmatic enough to realize there would be times it wouldn’t or couldn’t be helped.

Iain, still fussing, began to vocalize his displeasure at the situation.  Small almost bark-like cries and whimpers escaped past his lips and his hands flailed in frustration.  Rising from her seat near the kettle, Eleanor crossed over to Bryce’s side and lifted the babe into her arms.  “Now then,” she crooned gently as she lifted him to her shoulder and began rubbing along his back, “what’s all this about, hmm?”

Bryce chuckled softly, pushing himself to his feet so he could stand with them.  “I think he has your temper,” he teased with a grin, ignoring the snort of disgust Eleanor released at such an idea.  “What?” he asked next, giving her an innocent look.  “I’m as mild mannered as they come!”

“Pfft!”  Eleanor scowled up at him, tilting her head upwards to find his dropping so that their lips could meet briefly.  “This is your idea of negotiations, is it?” she asked.

Bryce closed the distance between them, pulling Eleanor and Iain into his arms.  Holding them close, he replied, “Is it working?”

Iain broke in with a contented cooing sound and both parents laughed.  “Your son certainly seems to think so,” Eleanor pointed out.  She could not hide a laugh at Bryce’s smug grin.  “Impossible man!” she murmured, but there was more than just a hint of affection in her tone.

 

~ n ~

 

Force of habit dating back from before Iain’s birth had Bryce making a side trip after returning from a day of hunting to wash up.  Where the sights and smells of a fresh kill had once bothered Eleanor while pregnant, Bryce now continued to do the same if only to keep from upsetting the baby.  

When he returned from cleaning away as much of the mess as he could, it was to find Eleanor had already collected the meat and was busily working on their evening meal.  What wasn’t used for that was being cut into strips to dry out for easier travel.  Nearby, Iain lay on a folded up blanket, his little fists moving jerkily as he played.  Contentment snuck up on Bryce; something he hadn’t been sure not that long ago he would ever have an opportunity to find.  It still amazed him just how much his life had changed since that day at White River.

“When do you want to leave?”

Eleanor’s question pulled his attention to her even as he circled the fire so he could retrieve a clean set of clothing.  The extras from today should give them a good head start for their journey.  “Day after tomorrow,” he finally replied while pulling his shirt over his head.  

Eleanor nodded, her eyes following his every movement as he changed.  When he finished and turned back towards her, she smiled.  She would miss this place -- not so much because of its practicality or comfort, but because it had been their first home together.  Their first steps into the journey of life together as a family.  Trials and tribulations aside, Eleanor would not change any of it for all the gold in Thedas.  Previous fears and doubts had been cast aside with the birth of Iain, replaced by the joy of becoming a mother as well as sharing that experience with Bryce.  

 

~ n ~

 

Departure came early in the morning, after a shared meal and a last look around the cave to make certain all belongings had been accounted for.  Once assured of that, they each donned what armor and gear they could, and with Iain bundled up and strapped to his mother’s chest in a repurposed backpack, they headed out.  

The journey was slow out of necessity -- traveling with a small baby added time in unexpected ways -- and it took nearly a week for Eleanor to get her walking legs back under her, but by the end of the first week they had made good progress.  By the end of two, they realized they were nearing the edges of the Frostbacks and could see down to the lower lands below.

“Another week,” Bryce told Eleanor as he evaluated the scene before them.  “We will continue north of Orzammar and exit the Frostbacks on the north side of Lake Calenhad. That should give us an easier and faster travel route to Highever.”  Being so close to the northern coast, too, Bryce hoped perhaps to find someone in one of the small villages or towns willing to take them by boat. To his way of thinking, that would be the safest option.  

Eleanor nodded.  Despite their months traveling through the mountains and all that happened, the fact that they were still being hunted had not been forgotten.  “Your knowledge of this area is better than mine,” she acknowledged, putting all of her faith and trust in him.  “I will follow your lead here.”

Bryce looked over at her for a long moment, their gazes holding steady.  Then, with a smile, he reached for her hand and gave it a quick squeeze.  He understood all too well what she meant by her words, and the fact she had come so far since their adventure together began was not lost on him.  Moving his hand to settle atop his son’s sleeping head for just a moment, he turned continued to lead the way north.

 

 


	17. Losses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains character conversations in Orlesian.  My French is over 30 years out of use, and I admit openly I relied on google translate for assistance to get my meanings across.  Additionally, in an effort to make sure all my readers could understand what was being said, I inserted [translations in italics between brackets] immediately following.  I apologize if this breaks up the flow of the story, but I could think of no other easy way to accomplish this.
> 
>  

 

Some four months after Iain’s birth, Bryce led Eleanor and his son out of the Frostback Mountains and back into Ferelden proper, descending into the plains north and west of Lake Calenhad.  It was strange to be on relatively level ground again, to be out of the mountains after spending almost an entire year there.  The flatness of Ferelden as it lay before them, the gently rolling hills and valleys, was a shock after so long.

Slowly they moved in a northeasterly direction.  Bryce wanted to get to Highever soon because Maker only knew what his father thought happened to him and his brother at White River.  And if his father, who was in failing health to begin with, thought the worst ….  Bryce shuddered, closing off such worries.  Best to just get there and determine the situation then.  There was no sense in borrowing trouble.

 

~ n ~

 

They kept to the rural areas as much as they could in order to keep their presence as undetected as possible.  Returning to the flatter lands helped speed up their travel distance and time, too, so that what would have taken weeks in the mountains now took mere days.  They were approaching West Hill, having crossed the River Dane the day before, which now put them about three to four days out from Highever, and they set up camp that evening on the edge of a heavily forested area.  

Bryce remained awake and on watch, allowing Eleanor and Iain the chance to sleep.  Given that the baby still relied on his mother for nourishment, Bryce insisted that he take the watch each evening.  But it was a risk.  Lack of sleep did not leave him at his best.

He kept the fire low enough to provide just enough light to see where he was walking around the makeshift camp.  They had no tent, relying on their bedrolls as their only cover.  And though a part of him expected it, the sound of trouble, when it arrived, was jarring.

He had just finished a circuit around their small campsite and was taking a drink water when he heard the snap of a twig nearby.  Bryce spun around to face the origin of the sound, but all he saw at the edge of the tree line was darkness.  Kneeling beside Eleanor, he squeezed her shoulder then covered her lips with his fingers.  “Prepare,” was all he whispered to her.  In the dim light, he saw her nod, shifting so that the sling she slipped over her shoulder could be moved over the sleeping infant with little trouble.

Turning back towards the sound, Bryce again stared out into the trees.  He thought he detected a pair of eyes glowing deeper in, but he couldn’t tell for sure.   _Maker,_ he prayed, _watch over us!_

 

~ n ~

 

“Mon Commandant!  Mon Commandant!”  [ _Commander!  Commander!]_

Bastien Mercier strode out of his pavilion, one of his personal guards having alerted him to the soldier’s return from patrol.  “M’informez!  Immédiatement!” he ordered harshly.  [ _Report at once!]_

The soldier, breathing harshly and leaning upon another for support, quickly gave his report.  He provided the location, the conditions and the number contained within the party.  “Mon Commandant, Je ne suis pas sûr que c'était ceux que vous cherchez.  Il y avait un enfant ....” [ _Commander, I don’t think these are the people you are looking for.  There is a baby…]_

Bastien’s dark eyes flared.  “Ce sont eux!  L'enfant est leur semence pourrie!” he declared.  “Au premier feu, nous les prendre!”  [ _It’s them!  And their rotten seed!  At first light we get them!]_

The soldier, having caught his breath, protested, “Mais, Commandant, le bébé!  Nous ne pouvons pas tuer un enfant!”  [ _But, Commander, the baby!  We can’t kill a child!]_

Bastien turned on the man, grabbing him by a handful of his hair and lifting him off his feet.  The soldier struggled against the hold, but to no avail.  “Vous les tuer ou vous allez mourir avec eux!” he declared, turning to face the others who had gathered.  “Aux armes!”   [ _You will kill them, or be killed with them!  To arms!]_

 

~ n ~

 

The immediate threat having passed, Bryce and Eleanor packed up their meager camp and prepared to move on, preferring not to take any chances.  Before light, they departed.

Bryce led the way, Eleanor carried Iain and followed behind.  He had no idea which direction the danger would come from, so he made his best guess.  They stopped about an hour later, in which Bryce took Iain while Eleanor caught her breath.  They didn’t speak, and thankfully, Iain remained quiet, preferring to coo softly at his father while grabbing up at his whiskered face.

Eleanor was about to whisper something to Bryce when she heard the noise.  Shooting her gaze to Bryce’s, she rose and grabbed her bag.  Bryce had already turned.  Holding his son to his chest with his right arm and grabbing Eleanor’s hand with his left, he led them across the meadow.  His instincts were screaming, _Run! Now!_ but he would not leave without his family.

Ducking and dodging, Bryce led them in the direction of the nearby woods.  “When we get there,” he choked out between breaths while running, “take Iain and _run_!”

Just before reaching the area, however, Eleanor fell.  Bryce’s first thought was that she had been hit.  Pausing for just a moment, he leaned down to see that she had only slipped on the grass, wet with morning dew.  As he stood back up, he began pushing her ahead of him.  “Go -!”

Eleanor heard a sickening thunking sound of a crossbow bolt meeting splintmail armor.  Turning, she knew she would find Bryce with an injury:  At the same moment the bolt hit, she’d heard his grunt of pain.  She started to turn to assist, but heard him growl, “Run!  Keep moving!  We have to get away from them!”

Eleanor stumbled into the wooded area, now concerned by the fallen limbs and large rocks that became hazards as they traversed the area.  Picking her way, she could hear Bryce lumbering behind her.  “Where?” she hissed, looking around, afraid they were taking too much time and that the soldiers would catch up to them.  “Which way?”

“Right,” Bryce replied.  “Go right.”  

Eleanor followed his advice, turning off to a cleared area on their right.  She ducked branches, dodged larger rocks and bushes, and most importantly kept moving.  Behind them, she was beginning to recognize the sounds of an Orlesian patrol approaching.  Glancing right and left she came to a sudden halt, feeling Bryce pull up behind her.  She thought she heard ….  “River?” she breathed.  Bryce’s breathing was more ragged than hers, and she suspected it was due to his wound.

“Head there,” he groaned, pushing her ahead of him and again to their right.  

Eleanor stumbled along, glancing back only once to reassure herself that Bryce and Iain were still following.  She reached the river first and found that they were above it by several feet.  There was no way to cross.  Looking around furtively, she searched for some place to hide ….

“Bryce,” she breathed when he pulled up next to her.  Grabbing his hand, she pulled him to the left where a bank of trees and bushes was clustered together.  It reminded her of the place where she had found him at White River.

She turned, looking for a response from Bryce but found him falling to his knees, groaning in pain.  “Bryce!” she cried, dropping beside him.  “We have to get to the ….”

As she fell, Eleanor paled in shock until she looked as white as a freshly laundered linen sheet.  He, too, was staring at the area of his wound ….

Reaching out tenderly, the Orlesian soldiers closing in on them even as their world exploded around them, Eleanor felt her heart come to a stop.  Gently taking her son’s now lifeless body from his father’s arms, she eased him away from the bolt which had penetrated through Bryce’s shoulder with enough force to injure him and kill their son.  Eleanor held the infant to her chest, hugging him close and rocking him, as she would of an evening after he had eaten or was being settled in for bed, and sobbed.

Bryce’s grief was no less.  The moment the bolt had hit him, he’d heard what he now realized was Iain’s final gasp as his young life was cut far shorter than it should have been.  As he had urged Eleanor on through the forest, Bryce felt his world sliding away from him, but he found a way to continue knowing that in the end he would give his life to keep her and his son safe.   _Safe_.  He looked over at Eleanor beside him, saw the devastation in her eyes and knew it matched his own.  A roar of anguish and pain unlike anything he had ever felt before surged upwards, escaping his lungs as he struggled to his feet.  Turning sharply on his heel, he met an approaching enemy soldier, pulling his sword free in the process as he closed in for battle.

The Orlesian patrol that began the chase was made up of six men.  Now, in the woods, they had separated out, searching for their targets.  Bryce turned, finding one of the men as he burst out of the trees in their direction.  He had obviously heard Bryce’s cry and simply thought it was his war cry … until he took several steps closer and heard another similar outburst.  He noticed the woman behind the warrior cradling an unresponsive infant, blood covering his head and her hands.  It didn’t take much for him to realize what had happened, for no one old or young could survive a crossbow bolt to the head.

Eleanor gently laid her son aside, reaching for the daggers she always had upon her.  Her cry echoed Bryce’s and she joined him before the Orlesian.

The soldier took a brief moment to evaluate the situation before him and made his decision.  He halted his advance and lowered his weapons.

Bryce saw the man yielding, but, Maker forgive him, he simply did not care.  He continued his movement forward, preparing to slaughter his opponent if necessary….

Eleanor, distraught beyond measure, reached out and grasped his arm.  “No, Bryce!” she said forcefully.  When he would have pulled away, she tried to use both hands to stop him, but he pulled away and grasped the man in front of him.  Lifting the soldier, Bryce pinned him up against a large tree.

“Madame,” the unit leader cried, struggling against Bryce, “c’était un accident!  Nous n’aurions jamais mal à un enfant!”  [ _It was an accident!  We would never harm a child!]_

Eleanor stepped next to Bryce, her heart breaking further at the look of utter defeat she found in his eyes.  She caught his arm, ceasing his attempts to cut his opponent’s breath.  While attempting to push Bryce back, she told the Orlesian, “Nous quitter immédiatement ou je vais laisser l’attaquer!”  [ _Leave us immediately or we will attack!]_

Bryce felt the rage leaving him, slowly, at her touch.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw the man he had pinned nodding furiously.  Eleanor finally managed to get Bryce to release him.  She was about to say something when the Orlesian told her, “Je vais leur dire que vous êtes mort.  Si vous avez obtenu de cette façon vous pourrez échapper sans être inquiétés.”  He pointed to her left.  [ _I will tell them you are dead.  If you go that way, you can escape without any trouble.]_

Eleanor nodded, stepping aside so he could leave.  “Merci,” she whispered. [ _Thank you.]_

The soldier had barely cleared the trees when Bryce turned on her.  “Why?” he choked out, pain vibrating with the word.  “They killed our son, Ellie!   _Our son!_  Why will you not let me -?”

Eleanor felt a sharp pain as if a knife were stabbing her in the heart.  When he tried to pull away from her touch, she refused to let him go.  “My love,” she choked out, for the first time calling him such, “I had two very good reasons!  First, it was an accident!  They were not intending to kill Iain, and I think you know this though you don’t want to see it just now.”  She waited in agony as he finally managed to break free from her touch, turning to stumble back to the motionless form of their son.  “Bryce, he told me he would tell them we are dead!  We will be able to flee without interference if we go that way!”  She pointed the same direction as the Orlesian had indicated.

She did not see react to her words in any way whatsoever.  “The second reason,” she called out after him, anger and fear and grief causing her voice to shake, “is that you are no cold-blooded murderer, Bryce Cousland!  I will not let you destroy yourself that way when I can prevent it!”

Bryce heard her words, but he did not acknowledge them.  Kneeling beside his son, reaching down to touch the child who had brought so much love and joy into his life in the few short months he had lived, Bryce lifted him into his arms allowed himself to grieve.

Warily, Eleanor approached and knelt across from him.  She waited, grieving silently with him, praying inwardly … _Maker, why?  Why would you give me something so special only to take him away so quickly?_  And in a part of her mind, she wondered to which of them she was referring.

Bryce felt like he was sinking into himself.   _What do I do now?_ he asked.   _What kind of man am I if I cannot even keep my family safe?_

The air around them remained still and silent, the only thing that could be heard were their sobs of grief … and the heavy sounds of guilt falling on shoulders of parents’ who had only wanted to love ….

 


	18. Challenges

Bryce and Eleanor had no way of knowing whether the soldier’s promise to tell the Orlesian, _Le Loup Garou,_ that they were dead would be kept.  They spent as long as they dared grieving their son, but survival instincts finally took over and they continued on in a desperate attempt to put miles between themselves and their enemy.  Eleanor simply fell in behind Bryce as they traveled, allowing her body to go numb to make the ever increasing pain in her heart bearable.  

After fleeing several miles from the skirmish site, Bryce led Eleanor to a small wooded area where they were able to find enough wood and a small clearing in order to have a private funeral for Iain.  They spent most of a day at the site, grieving further, mostly separately, and when the pyre had burned down and cooled, they took some of the ashes with them in order to have a proper memorial at a later date once they returned to Highever.

Kneeling next to the pyre, Bryce watched the embers fade as his son exited his life as quickly as he had entered into it.   _I have failed you, my son_ , he thought.   _I pray to the Maker that you are at peace and will forgive your father for not protecting you better…._

Eleanor was nearby, but not too close to Bryce.  He had made it clear in her mind that he did not want her near him.   _My darling boy,_ she thought, _you brought so much happiness to us in the short time you were a part of our small family!  I pray the Maker has mercy to give you back the joy you gave us.  Sweet Andraste, please keep him near you and watch over him.  He is one of the Maker’s chosen, a special one …._

Over the following days, of the few words that Bryce and Eleanor exchanged, most revolved around their travel plans.  “We’ll head towards Amaranthine,” Bryce finally announced.  “The Arl there is a personal friend.  He will help us.”  After their encounter with _Le Loup Garou_ ’s troops, going to Highever now would be expected and too dangerous.  

Now as they slowly made their way towards Amaranthine, and Bryce continued to withdraw from her, Eleanor wondered if all hope for salvaging their relationship might now be lost.  He wouldn’t talk to her, other than a grunt of agreement or disagreement, and soon she stopped trying.  She had her own pain to worry about, pain that was beginning to surpass the numbness she had initially welcomed, as well as her own fears and grief.  

When they arrived at the Arl’s estate at Amaranthine, Eleanor was relieved.  She followed Bryce into the keep’s courtyard, and watched from a distance as he reunited with his friend, Arl Rendon Howe.  

“Bryce!” Howe greeted him in surprise, moving to give him a warrior’s greeting.  “I had thought you dead when I heard nothing from you after White River!  Thank the Maker you are still with us!  Maric and Loghain will be beside themselves with relief!”

Bryce managed a rueful chuckle.  “Much has happened since White River, Rendon,” he told the man.  Reaching behind him, he took Eleanor’s hand and pulled her forward.  “Rendon, this is Eleanor Muir.”

“Muir?” Howe mused for a moment, glancing off in the distance as if recalling a memory.  “Would you happen to be Bann Galen’s daughter?”

Eleanor nodded slowly.  Rendon Howe was not a name unfamiliar to her, though it was by reputation only.  Visitors to her father had mentioned him in past, and rumors, many of them unflattering if not outright concerned, had followed.  “Yes, my lord,” she replied.  Was the uneasiness she now felt due to those rumors, due to recent events, or just her imagination?  Whatever the source, she had no real option to separate herself as Bryce pulled her into the conversation.  That and she did not want to embarrass him by being rude.

Rendon quickly waved his hands and said, “No, no.  Please, do not stand on ceremony with me, dear lady!”  Eleanor managed a slight smile.  “Please, both of you, come inside.  Bryce, you and I, we have much to catch up on, and you have arrived just in time.  Maric has sent an … emissary, if you will, to assist us in the Rebellion.  We have another mission, my friend, and you are just in time to partake in the … festivities.”

Bryce stepped forward then, moving in next to his friend as they walked indoors, Rendon talking the entire way.  Eleanor felt bereft as they left her behind.  She moved quickly after them, following them indoors.  In the entryway, she was met by a lovely young woman dressed in leather armor who stepped forward to greet her.  “You must be Eleanor, yes?”

Eleanor blinked and nodded, quickly identifying the woman’s accent.   _Orlesian._  “Yes,” she replied a bit warily.

The woman reached out a hand in a warrior’s greeting. “I am Marianne Desmarais.  As I am sure you have noticed, I am Orlesian.”  Eleanor nodded.  “It is fortunate for you and your country then that I am on the side of the Rebellion.”

Eleanor felt … fuzzy, her head spinning, her mind whirling.  Marianne must have sensed this because she stepped forward and slid an arm around the younger woman.  “Bah!  But that is a story for another time, yes?  Right now we should perhaps get you upstairs,” Marianne suggested as she began leading Eleanor towards the staircase, “where you can bathe and rest.  You are exhausted, yes?”

Eleanor almost broke into tears right then and there.  “Yes!”

Marianne smiled in understanding.  “Come then, _cherie_ , we shall get you into a bath, then food and then rest.”  She led Eleanor down the hallway to a room with a tub filled with hot water waiting for her use.  Marianne had heard their arrival and suspected that such would be necessary so she had called upon the servants to make the preparations.  “Do you need assistance, _cherie_?  Or can you manage on your own?”

Eleanor took one step towards the tub and collapsed to her knees, sobbing.  Marianne motioned to the servant in the room to leave.  Kneeling beside the Eleanor, Marianne pulled the girl close for a warm hug of friendship and a shoulder to cry upon.  “There, there,” she murmured, rocking slowly, rubbing Eleanor’s back.  “All will be well.  You have traveled far, yes?  Let me assist you.”  

Eleanor could not say later exactly what how it happened, but she was soon soaking in a tub filled with warm water and bath salts.  Once bathed, fed and finally resting in a comfortable, she lost consciousness the moment her dark head hit the pillow.

Bryce, on the other hand, found himself closeted with his friend for much of the remainder of the day.  Rendon had indeed been correct in his information regarding the coincidental timing of his arrival, and the extraordinary mission planned.  When a young Orlesian woman joined the two men a short while later, Bryce greeted her one warrior to another.  

“We are most grateful for your safe return,” Marianne told him.  “I hope you will pardon me for my tardiness.  I escorted your friend upstairs so that she could clean up and get some rest.  The poor thing was utterly exhausted.”

Bryce belatedly remembered Eleanor.  Guilt took hold, tightening across his chest, almost suffocating him.  He had not done right by her, he knew that.  But now that they had reached this stage, he was unsure of what he could do to right things.  How was he supposed to return to the man he was before, the man Eleanor deserved, when he couldn’t even protect his family?

 

~ n ~

 

The days spent at Amaranthine passed with increasing speed from the moment they arrived.  Bryce and Eleanor were there for two weeks when one evening, Bryce found himself standing at the balcony off of his room overlooking the courtyard below.  The sun had set only a short time before, and there was still a hint of daylight through the trees … just enough for the last stragglers of the day to scurry inside before the evening meal would be served in the great hall.

Behind him, he heard the soft knock at the door, but he ignored it.  He wasn’t interested in company just then.  His mind was too busy processing what he’d been witness to that afternoon.

_Rendon, Bryce, Eleanor and Marianne were out riding, Rendon giving them a guided tour of Amaranthine’s estate that he had inherited upon his father’s death several years before.  At one point, they stopped to walk the horses, to give the animals a rest, and Bryce soon discovered himself confronted with what he had been trying to avoid since their arrival at Amaranthine: Rendon Howe was clearly interested in Eleanor and pressing his suit._

_After wandering off away from the horses, now tethered to some trees to allow their riders some time to explore their surroundings, Bryce turned back to find his friend maneuvering Eleanor away from their mounts in the other direction.  That the man had the gall to do this with Bryce around did not occur to Bryce.  His focus was upon Eleanor and her reactions, for he knew from his own personal experience that Eleanor was a force to be reckoned with.  She would not stand for something if she truly disliked it …._

_Bryce soon came upon Marianne who spoke softly to him, engaging his attention for just a moment regarding some of the local foliage, and when his gaze found Eleanor once more, Rendon was pulling her into his arms and whispering near her ear … and Eleanor seemed to be enjoying herself …._

_Bryce could only stand there for a long moment, thunderstruck._ I have lost her _, he realized in that moment.  She was not refusing Rendon’s touch or his conversation.  She had a smile upon her face, the first he had seen in weeks ….  Bryce sighed and turned away, his battle lost…._

Bryce was startled from his thoughts … first by the scent of honeysuckle, and then by the brush of a petite figure moving beside him.  Smiling in amusement, if only to himself, he glanced down.  Long dark auburn curls that nearly reached her waist, golden brown eyes … and a soft gentle smile that could melt even the hardest of hearts.  

“ _Bon soir, cheri_ ,” Marianne murmured.  “I hope you do not mind my … how is it you called it earlier this afternoon? … My ‘pressing the issue,’ yes?”  Bryce only managed a short nod before she continued.  “As your door was locked, and I was concerned given events of this afternoon, I … ‘helped’ it open.  I hope you do not mind.”  She glanced up at him.  “Are you faring better this evening?”

Bryce actually chuckled, his thoughts drifting back to the conversation they had earlier.  “You are persistent,” he agreed with a warm smile.  “And to answer your question: No, I do not mind.  As for feeling better ….”  He allowed his words to drift off before he gestured out to the scenery in front of them.  Turning his attention back to her, he attempted to brighten the mood by saying, “How can I take exception when such beauty only adds to the surroundings and brightens my day even as it turns to night?”  Bryce’s breath caught as he watched the smile on her face grow, the laughter bubble up and out into some of the most delightful sounds he had ever heard.  

Marianne’s cheeks were now flushed with delight.  “You are such a charmer, Bryce Cousland,” she responded.  She then ducked her head slightly and added, “And it should not be wasted on me.  But I do appreciate the compliment.”    

They stood there for a few moments, in companionable silence, staring out as the night darkened.  Finally, Marianne turned and asked, “Were you going to join us for dinner this evening?  We will be discussing final preparations for the mission.  You should be with us.”

Bryce sighed.  He knew that Rendon would be there, and Eleanor at his side, he supposed after today’s events.  How could he face them, knowing that he still loved her, knowing that he didn’t deserve her, knowing that he had lost her through his own fault ….

Marianne slid an arm through his, glancing up at his face.  “Come,” she insisted.

Bryce shook his head, releasing her arm.  “I cannot, Marianne,” he told her, enjoying the feel of her unfamiliar name on his tongue.  “I think I shall stay here … and rest.”

Marianne followed him back into his room.  “ _Non, cheri,_ ” she insisted.  “You must face your demons.”  

He stopped walking, turning slowly to face her, the most incredulous look upon his face.  

She stepped up next to him, a wide, knowing smile curving at her lips.  “Do you think me blind, Bryce?  Do you think I cannot see what it is you are feeling?”

Bryce frowned.  “But …,” he protested.

“Bah!” she exclaimed, swatting the air as if she was shooing away an unwanted fly.  “The longer you hide from yourself, running from your demons, mon ami, the longer it takes to get over them.  Trust me, I have first-hand experience at this!”  She held his gaze.  

Truth be told, Bryce could find no will to break it.  But in her words, for no reason he could explain, he was surprised to find … hope.  

“Yes, that is more like it.  You are fighting a battle, _non_?  Like the one we plan against _Le Loup Garou_?  Strategy is what is required.  Tactics are necessary.  But,” she added, her voice dropping and sounding more conspiratorial, “you have an advantage over your ‘enemy’ as it were, non?”

That, plus the vehemence in her tone, startled Bryce and he backed up a step.  “An advantage?  What do you mean?”  

In response, he found that her smile was genuine but also sent chills down his spine.  “You have an ally in your campaign!” she announced matter-of-factly.  She gestured him to the bed, made him sit while she paced around the room, and started to outline her suggested strategy.  “We will begin tonight at dinner.”

For the first time since his son’s death, Bryce pushed away the grief and guilt that had wrapped around him.  Beneath it, he sensed the remaining tendrils of happiness and joy he’d known before.  Pulling that close, he nodded his agreement with Marianne’s suggestions.  “Tonight …”

 


	19. Plans Within Plans

For the life of her, Eleanor could find no reason why her presence was necessary that evening at dinner in the great hall.  It became obvious fairly soon after they were seated that the topic of conversation was to revolve around the subject of _Le Loup Garou_.

_Le Loup Garou_.  Orlesian for wolf.  Sitting back in her chair and paying only half attention to the conversation around her, Eleanor let her mind wander to the man … the _monster_ who had been tracking them since the Battle of White River, the same monster who had killed her son.  

Stories of the Orlesian chevaliers and their destructive influence in and around Ferelden was not uncommon.  Many people, most often the innocent, suffered at their hands.  Arrogant to the extreme, popular belief suggested that they believed themselves to be superior to all, particularly the inhabitants of Ferelden.  For most of her life, Eleanor had been able to avoid any confrontation with them, though she knew some members of her family, but close and distant, had not been so fortunate.  

“Bastien Mercier is persistent.”

The statement, coming from the Orlesian woman was accurate enough, Eleanor silently acknowledged.  After recent events, she doubted he could be stopped unless by someone else.  That did not bode well for her and Bryce, and likely anyone who associated with them.  Eleanor took a moment to gaze at each of her current companions.   _We should leave_ , she mused, _lest we bring danger to them_.

“He has been tracking us since White River,” Bryce explained, responding to a question Eleanor had missed, but likely regarded how or why _Le Loup Garou_ was interested in them.  

“Barely fifty survived that battle,” Rendon added.  “Many of those who did managed to rejoin with Maric’s army.”

Bryce nodded.  “They should be safe enough there, I should think.”

“Only once we have dealt with him will they truly be free,” Marianne murmured.  “He is ruthless.  Relentless.  You have seen a dog with a bone, yes?”  The two men nodded.  “What happens if you take that bone away?  It will hunt it down again, destroying anything that gets in its way.”

Bryce nodded again.  “I’d heard rumors of him before White River,” he explained, “but he is proving to be more of a challenge than even I gave him credit for.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Eleanor noted Marianne scowl darkly.  “He is, as you would say … pure evil?”  Bryce and Rendon both acknowledged her accuracy with another nod.  “He must be stopped.  Not all Orlesians are as bad as he is.”  With this pronouncement, she smiled with warmth and affection in Bryce’s direction.  

Eleanor downed half a glass of her wine without comment.  

“Indeed.”

“So,” Eleanor broke in, at long last participating in the conversation and blatantly ignoring Bryce’s response, “you have taken to tracking this … wolf-man?”

Marianne sighed, but turned her full attention to Eleanor.  “I first heard of his arrival in Ferelden a few years ago,” she replied.  “Even then, his reputation was bad.  With each additional tale, his behaviors became more … extreme.  Too many innocents suffered because of him.”  She shrugged as casually as if she were discussing the weather, Eleanor noticed.  It was a bit disconcerting.  “He is Orlesian, as am I.  He and those like him present us as … _les bêtes-noires_ … You call them monsters, no?”

Eleanor considered the Orlesian word.  She’d heard it used a few times in past, but was not overly familiar with the term herself.  She glanced over at Bryce, noting his eyes were focused solely on Marianne, as if fascinated by her description.  Rendon, however, was nodding.  “I believe so,” she murmured in reply.

Nodding firmly, Marianne continued.  “Because of this, I have taken it upon myself to stop him.  It is bad enough what he does, but he attacks those who cannot defend themselves.  Women.  Children.  Elderly.”  She shrugged again.  “It must be done,” she concluded simply.

“Most recently, he was responsible for an attack in the bannorn,” Rendon interjected, his eyes falling upon Eleanor.  He smiled at her, and while Eleanor managed to return it, she could honestly say that she was uncomfortable from the attention he was paying her.  “He and his men destroyed a village in their search for one of the White River survivors.  Maric has given us leave to track him down.”

Across the table from her, Eleanor heard Bryce inhale sharply.  She had just reached for her goblet when she noticed her hand shaking and rather than risking spilling her newly filled glass, she opted to let it lie by the side of her plate instead.  “How many were killed?” she asked in a barely audible voice.

There was a moment of silence.  Eleanor glanced up, between Rendon and Marianne.  “How many?” she asked again, her eyes taking on a harder edge.  She would have an answer one way or another.

“Too many,” Marianne allowed quietly.

“Over one hundred,” Rendon replied more definitively.

Eleanor was quick to note neither would meet her gaze.  “Where?” she asked this time.  Again, she was met with silence.  Frustrated, she repeated herself.  Why would they try to hide it from her?  She was as invested in the survival of Ferelden now as they were.  Then again, the only one who would understand that at the moment was the one who had distanced himself from her.

Bryce surprised her, however, and looked over at her, pleadingly.  “Does it matter?” he hedged.

Something about the way he asked that set off an alarm bell in her head.  “Yes,” she insisted, realizing she would probably end up regretting it later, “it does.”

Rendon Howe, with obvious reluctance and resignation, replied, “It was a small village on the border of your father’s lands.  I’m so sorry.”

The groan escaped before she could stop it, and she covered her face.

“As I said,” Marianne restated softly, “it must be done.  He will deserve what fate has in store for him.”

“And you have a plan in place?” Bryce asked.  He looked over at Rendon.  “You said Maric gave you sanction to do this?”

“He has,” Rendon agreed.  “The man -- the _Loup Garou_ , that is -- is a danger to us all, not just those who survived White River.  Even Maric can see that.”

“Has he come after you?” Eleanor asked.  When Rendon looked startled, she added, “Were you not at the battle?”

A sneer formed, his lip curving insolently.  “The man would not _dare_ attack me on my own lands!”

It was a rather brash and bold statement, Eleanor thought, especially given what she and Bryce had been through for the past year.  Again, that sense of wrongness where Rendon was concerned was triggered.   _Such arrogance._  She hid her thoughts behind sip of her wine.  

“You have been very fortunate, Rendon,” Marianne interjected.  “ _Le Loup Garou_ , he does not allow anything to get between him and his prey.”  She glanced first at Eleanor and then at Bryce.  “And perhaps you both have kept him too occupied?”

“It might explain why your father’s people became victims,” Bryce agreed as he looked over at Eleanor.

Eleanor shuddered.  She had no doubt it played into that, now knowing first hand of what the man was capable.  It was a sobering and horrifying thought.

“I still say we should leave one of his own kind to deal with him,” Rendon offered, taking a deep pull from his drink.

Eleanor frowned.  “What do you mean?”

“Have you not heard of this _Le Renard Blanc_ , my dear?” he countered glibly.  Eleanor shook her head.  Did she really need to remind him that she and Bryce had been wandering the Frostback Mountains for the past year?  “Ah, well, I suppose you might have missed that, though stories of this mysterious White Fox have been roaming the country for years.”

“Do not tell me you believe in fairy tales?” Marianne teased lightly.  “From what I have heard, this _Le Renard_ is just that -- a child’s tale.”

“I would argue against that, my dear lady, if I had seen it with my own eyes, but I have not.  No, my information comes from one I trust, within the city of Amaranthine itself.”

Eleanor looked over at Bryce, but he appeared as confused as she and shrugged his shoulders.  “What can you tell us about him?” she asked.

“ _Le Renard_ ,” Marianne began, “as you might guess from his name, is Orlesian.  He has been traveling the countryside for several years now, helping out those who need his aid.  From the stories I have heard, most often it is women and children.”

“If you believe the stories, he has traveled the width and breadth of Ferelden at least a dozen times,” Rendon added.  “From Amaranthine to Lothering, to the border with Orlais itself!  He takes most challenges offered and, from what I hear, has always come out the winner.”

“And your source?” Bryce asked his friend.

“A friend in the city of Amaranthine, as I said,” Rendon replied.  “I trust her word over most others.  According to her, as recently as a few months ago, _Le Renard_ was in the city.  A gang of thugs, Orlesian, no doubt, were terrorizing a group of women in the markets.”

Marianne’s eyes lit up.  “Ahh, I have heard of this one!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together.  “ _Le Renard_ came to their aid.”  She gave Bryce a conspiratorial wink.  “In dramatic fashion, as I understand.  He descended to the markets from the city walls above.  Using his bow, he shot three arrows at once, each striking one of those attempting to do these women harm.”  

Eleanor could hear humor in Marianne’s tone and Bryce, too, seemed amused.  For herself, Eleanor remained silent, but her lips curved slightly as she took another drink.  Rendon, perturbed no doubt that his story had been interrupted and taken over, sighed.  “Nothing quite so dramatic as all that, I was told, but he did descend from above.  My friend said that he chased the perpetrators away, leaving the women free of harassment.”

“Is it true, do you think?” Eleanor ventured, honestly curious.

Rendon shrugged.  “I have no idea,” he replied disdainfully, “nor does it really matter.”

“Ah,” Marianne cut him off, “that is where you are wrong!  It _does_ matter because he brings hope to the people.  Hope can be a powerful weapon.”

“Do you believe it to be true then?” Eleanor asked the Orlesian.  

Marianne shrugged.  “In every story there is at least a kernel of truth, is there not?” she returned.  

 


	20. Reunited

 

The next day, Bryce led Marianne out into the courtyard of Vigil’s Keep.  The day was sunny, the air crisp and clean.  For all intents and purposes, it was a beautiful day with great promise.  And yet everything felt … wrong.  He could not deny it.  

Marianne held his arm, leaning close every once in awhile, murmuring softly so that Bryce would have to lean down to hear her.  She kept an eye on their surroundings as they walked, observing everything: the soldiers as they trained, the servants as they hustled about … Eleanor from a window above as she watched the couple walking, her emerald gaze shooting daggers at them both.  She was aware of it all, and in her own quiet way kept him informed as they completed another circuit.  Without looking up at him, he heard her call his name.

“Yes, my dear?” he replied, hoping that her earlier instructions to refer to her as such would not completely ruin his relationship with Eleanor, though at this point he doubted that it much mattered anymore.

“Pretend I have just said something incredibly witty, and laugh!”

From her position inside the keep, Eleanor watched Bryce and Marianne as they strolled by.   _He certainly seems to be enjoying himself_ , she thought a bit viciously as she observed him laughing at the Orlesian.  Closing her eyes, she managed to fight back another wave of tears that threatened.   _Where did we go so wrong?_ she wondered.   _When did it become so … unfixable between us?  We lost a son, but did we have to lose ourselves as well?_

The couple turned the corner shortly thereafter, wandering out of Eleanor’s line of sight.  A part of her wanted to go after them, to smack the Orlesian tart (as she thought of her) and tell her to find her own man … but Eleanor knew she couldn’t do that, wouldn’t, not after what had happened between Bryce and herself.  

Turning back into the room, Eleanor crossed into the main dining area where she could find a seat at one of the many tables.  She was miserable.  Yes, most of it was due to her grief at the loss of her son.  But she also grieved for the loss of her … _husband_ ?  Though their ritual had been private and not endorsed by the Chantry, it had been real enough to the both of them at the time.  But upon their arrival he had introduced her to Rendon as Eleanor Muir … using her father’s name instead of his own.   _Does he hate me that much?_ she couldn’t help but wonder.

“Ah, there you are, my dear!”

Eleanor cringed inwardly.   _Damn the man!  Why won’t he leave me alone?_  Plastering on a smile, she turned towards the Arl of Amaranthine and greeted him.  “Good day, … Rendon.”  Struggled over his name when she in reality all she wanted was to choke on it.   _Manners, Eleanor_ , she could hear Nan chiding, referring to the lessons they had suffered through together as children.   _Manners!_

Howe lifted her hand to her lips, oblivious to the wince that passed over her face.  “The day is beautiful, and as we are to soon be on the road campaigning, I thought you might join me for a walk?  What do you think of that?”

Eleanor swallowed hard and counted to ten before she replied.  She still could find no explanation why his behavior bothered her as it did, but the fact that he would not give up and leave her be was rapidly moving to the top of her list.  “I am so very sorry, Rendon,” she murmured.  “Please, forgive me.  I have not been feeling well since the nooning meal.  Might our walk wait for another day perhaps?  As we are to leave soon, I think it would be better if I were to rest this afternoon ….”

Howe could not conceal his disappointment.  “My dear, I am sorry to hear you are not well.”  His tone suggested genuine concern, but Eleanor could read his features better than that.  “Perhaps an evening stroll, after supper?”

Sighing inwardly, Eleanor nodded.  “Perhaps.”

With a smile, and a rather lascivious looking one at that, Howe gave her a slight bow, kissed her hand once more and said, “I hope to find you in better spirits this evening then, my dear.”  And with that, he turned and left her, descending down the stairs and through the pair of large front doors to the keep.

Eleanor turned quickly, in case the despicable man should decide to return, and headed towards the stairs.  She realized her thoughts were taking her where she did not want to be at the moment.  Depression was for milksops, for women who relied on men for their whole existence, for ….  She stopped in the middle of ascending the stairs to her room.   _For women like me who love their husbands and it is not returned…._  With a sob, Eleanor ran the rest of the way to her room, closing herself inside.

 

~ n ~

 

Several evenings later in the library, alone and staring at the book she pretended to read, the opportunity for Eleanor to confront Marianne presented itself.  The Orlesian was quiet as she entered the room, but Eleanor heard her.  She turned her gaze to find and meet Marianne’s within a few steps of entry.  Her smile was friendly as she observed, “Your senses are quite attuned to your surroundings.”

Eleanor’s eyes closed to mere slits.  “You will find I am full of surprises,” she replied.

There were several seats to choose from, but Marianne chose the one next to Eleanor rather than across from her.  “Of that, _cherie_ , I have no doubt.”  Adjusting her position in the chair, she continued, “But there are some things, I think, that you are … missing, yes?”

Eleanor had no desire to speak with this woman who had all but publicly staked her claim upon Bryce over the past several days, but it needed to be done if she wanted any hope of being with him in future.  While not even certain it was still a chance, she could no longer just sit around doing nothing.  “Is that so?” she challenged.

Marianne leaned forward, a glint forming behind her caramel colored eyes.  “Are you sure you are ready for such an evaluation, _cherie_?” she purred.  “You have been through much in the past -- what has it been now, almost two years?  I would make sure that you could stand the process before initiating it.”

Eleanor frowned.  “What could you possibly know about what has happened to me … unless Bryce has already told you!”

The mere thought was enough to send Eleanor bolting to her feet to find and challenge Bryce, but Marianne’s hand snuck out quickly, wrapping firmly around Eleanor’s wrist and holding tight.  Momentarily stunned by the quickness with which the other woman could move and the strength in her grasp, Eleanor sat back down without protest.  Marianne turned to face Eleanor directly, brown eyes catching and holding green.  “Bryce did not tell me,” she said firmly, squeezing Eleanor’s arm.  “He did not need to tell me.  I could see it in his eyes … as I see it in _your own_ ….”

Eleanor’s eyes widened in shock.  This was not what she had intended …  “Wh-what do you mean?”

Marianne’s smile held sympathy … and encouragement.  “In my life I have learned how to read people,” she said simply.  “More than once it has saved my life … or theirs….”

Still unable to tear her gaze from Marianne’s, Eleanor whispered, “Are … are you an assassin?”

The Orlesian woman giggled, the amusement making her appear and sound much younger than her years.  “ _Non, cherie_ ,” she replied with an impish grin, “ _that_ I am glad to say I am not!”  She stared at Eleanor a long moment, her amber eyes perusing Eleanor thoughtfully.  Then, sitting back once more, she nodded in understanding.  “Ahh!  I see! You think I am interested in … _seducing_ your man!”

Eleanor could not help the blush that spread rapidly.  “N-no …!”

Marianne smiled.  “Do not deny the truth of your feelings, cherie, for that is almost as difficult as denying your existence.”  Pointing to her eyes, Marianne continued, “Your love can be seen here.  And if you would simply look beyond your own pain, your own insecurities and fears, you would see his as well, and that they match your own.”

The room was silent save for the echo of Eleanor’s gasp.  

“ _Cherie_ , that man loves you and only you, of that there is no doubt,” Marianne insisted.  “He loves you enough to let you go if that is your wish.”  This last was a whisper.

A sob burst free with a force that left Eleanor as stunned as Marianne’s announcement did, surprising her with its strength.  Gentle arms surrounded her quickly, holding her in comfort as foreign words she could vaguely understand provided peace of mind for the first time since before her son’s tragic death.

Standing at the doorway with his friend, Bryce watched as Marianne glanced over at him, beckoning him to enter the room.  He took three hesitant steps, but picked up the pace the nearer her came to them.  Eleanor’s sobs tore straight through him, cutting deeply as they described and defined the depth of her pain.

He would never be certain if it was planned or not, but he and Rendon had paused when passing the room on their way to the Arl’s office.  Standing there, he had overheard the last bit of the conversation between the two women, and now Bryce knew all he needed about Eleanor.  Kneeling in front of her, he carefully pulled her into his arms and simply held her, offering her his shoulder, his warmth, his strength, such as it was.  She reacted with a renewed fervor to her cries, and Bryce glanced over at Marianne.  She nodded reassuringly even as she pushed herself to her feet.  As she departed, giving them the privacy they desperately needed, Bryce could not refrain from joining Eleanor in grieving for the son they had lost, for the long weeks of pain and confusion between them, as well as for the chance they had just been given, by the Maker and an Orlesian ex-patriot, to try again.

 

~ n ~

 

Marianne left the couple alone with their emotions, pausing only to give Bryce an affectionate squeeze upon his shoulder as she did so.  She wandered out of the room and to the right, knowing that _he_ would be waiting for her there.

“I could have you killed for interfering and no one would be any wiser,” Howe hissed in her ear, a dagger at her throat as he snuck up behind her slender frame.

“And you would die with me!” she returned fiercely while spinning out of his grasp, her dagger wiggling at his waistline to show him his weakness.  He released her, shoving her from him with a hiss of frustration, emphasizing her opinion that he was a snake.  “You should not interfere with the Maker’s plans!” she warned him.

“The Maker has no control over me and my plans, girl!”

“ _These_ are not your plans to control!” she challenged while gesturing in the direction of the library.  “Your _only_ plans should be for capturing _Le Loup Garou_ for Maric.  Do not meddle where you should not be and most definitely are not wanted!”

It was the look in his eyes, the glare of pure hatred directed solely at her, that reminded her of an encounter several days before ….

 _The library was silent save for the occasional brush of fabric against very old books.  Marianne grimaced at the amount of dust layered upon the multitude of tomes._ Does no one read in this household? _she wondered incredulously.  So many wonderful volumes, and none of them touched in … ages?_

_She was deep in the stacks when she heard the sound of voices entering the room.  Slowly lowering herself to the floor, she crept to the end of the aisle, wondering if she would be able to leave without anyone noticing …._

_“You do realize of course,” Howe was saying in that oily, slippery way that he had about him, “that Bryce would never consider marrying you given that your father’s … position is so minor as to barely even register on a teyrn’s level.”_

_Eleanor was silent, her features subdued._

_“However,” he continued almost immediately, presumably not expecting a response, “a man in_ my _position does not have to be so … discriminating.”  He stopped walking and turned to face her.  Noting a stray lock of hair falling into her eyes, he reached up to tuck the recalcitrant strand behind her ear.  As he did, his eyes followed his fingers, digits that lingered as they traced the outer edge of her ear._

 _From her position in the stacks, Marianne could see Eleanor flinch at the man’s touch._ Ahhh, so that’s how it is, is it? _she realized._ If that is the case ….

_Marianne was about to step forward when she noticed Howe moving forward, almost as if he was herding Eleanor backwards, towards one of the bookcases.  Then she heard him saying, “A woman as beautiful as you should find comfort in a real man, not some spoiled teyrn's son.”_

_Alarm bells began going off in Marianne’s head and she could see Eleanor’s gaze glancing furtively around for something … a weapon, a way out …?  Then the younger woman’s gaze found hers …_

_“Excuse me, my lord?” Marianne called out, stepping out of the stacks._

_Howe growled beneath his breath, obviously disgusted by the interruption.  “What is it?” he demanded before turning around quickly and spotting the Orlesian.  “Oh, it’s you.”_

_Marianne gave him her most winsome smile.  Nodding, and letting Eleanor know at the same time it was safe to leave, she queried, “I wondered if you might be able to assist me?  I’ve found a book that I cannot reach … would you be able to help?”_

_Howe glanced over his shoulder, and cursed beneath his breath as he realized Eleanor had fled.  Marianne knew she had to tread very carefully here.  Playing coy, she batted her eyelashes and said, “Please?”_

_Howe stormed over to the aisle with her following.  She pointed out some random book on one of the upper shelves which sent him reaching for the stepladder.  Moments later, he dropped the book into her hands.  “Merci bien, my lord!” Marianne told him, bowing slightly at him before turning to leave the room._

_As she exited, she almost ran into one of Howe’s soldiers who was rushing into the room.  “Oh!” she exclaimed with false alarm.  “Pardon me!”_

_“Outta my way, wench!” he muttered._

_Marianne stepped aside, watching as the door closed behind her.  Frowning, she stepped up to it and placed her ear to the wood.  “Next time I manage to get the Muir woman alone, make sure that Orlesian bitch is not around!”  Stepping back, Marianne turned and left.  This man definitely needed watching._

Now, Marianne watched the gleam of pure rage and hatred that filled his features.  She knew then that she must warn Bryce and Eleanor at the first opportunity to watch out for this man.  That he was pure evil, was assured in her mind.

Howe spat at her.  “You should not be meddling, you Orlesian trollop!  I don’t know what game you are playing with Maric and Loghain, but I _will_ get what I want!”

Marianne allowed her look to match his: hatred, disgust, bitterness, … malevolence.  All were there.  “Be careful, _cheri_ ,” she drawled out, deliberately taunting him with the term of endearment, “for you know not of what you speak.  Your should-be king has entrusted me with a mission that only I can accomplish.  If you wish him to be successful in his aims so that you can remain in his good graces, and receive the credit, the honor, the … acclaim you so desire, ….”

Marianne watched the man swallow his words, turning to leave.   _Bâtard!_ she thought as she continued towards her rooms.   _Vous êtes pas mieux que Batien!_  [ _Bastard!  You’re no better than Bastien!]_

Once in her rooms, Marianne removed her armor and weapons.  Though she might need the armor before the evening was out should Rendon try anything beyond the looks, she much preferred less constraint right now.  She chose a pair of leggings and an oversized tunic, liking the contrasting caresses of leather and linen against her skin.  Moving to a nearby window, she stared out into the evening sky, reflecting back upon events as they unfolded in the library instead of her encounter with Howe.   _Ah, maman, papa … you would have liked this pair, I think,_ she mused.

 

~ n ~

 

Much later that evening, a soft knock at her door pulled Marianne from the book she was writing in.  But for her rogue training, she might never have heard it.  Setting aside her quill and ink, she approached cautiously and called through the door, “Yes?  What is it?”

“Marianne, please let us in!”

She opened the door immediately upon hearing Bryce’s hushed whisper and ushered her friend inside.  She also noted he was not alone.  Turning towards a now smiling Eleanor, Marianne asked, “Ah, _cherie_!  I can see that things are now … improving for you, yes?  Will you please accept my apologies for the deception?  I felt it would be the only way to make you face your own demons.”

Eleanor blushed, but nodded.  She glanced up at Bryce who smiled back in return.  Before Marianne’s eyes, Eleanor appeared to grow several inches taller.  They would, not doubt, still have things to work out between them, but it appeared that the misunderstanding between them was well on its way to being healed.  “I … I wished to thank you,” Eleanor stammered after a moment.  

Her gaze dropped to her hands and she opened her mouth to utter something else, but Marianne reached out to take Eleanor’s hands in hers, effectively silencing her.  “Nonsense!” Marianne told her softly with a smile.  She reached out and pulled one of Bryce’s hands into hers as well, placing it over Eleanor’s.  “You both have been through much, yes?   _Non, non_ ,” she hurried on, waving her other hand at them, “do not deny it.  I can see in your eyes you have suffered much.  The details are not necessary to understand such pain.”

Releasing their hands, Marianne turned away and wandered across the room a short distance.  They were a reminder of her own losses over the years, and yet, it was not her way to let the situation between them simply sit and fester when she might possibly be able to help.  Sighing, she added, “I have been blessed or cursed, depending upon your point of view,” she admitted, “with the ability to read people well.  My … family taught me that skill.”  She swallowed hard, managing to get past the ever increasing lump in her throat.  Turning back to face them, she smiled, sadly but still smiled, and told them, “I am glad my skills could help where they were needed most.”

Marianne shook her head as if removing cobwebs from her head.  “Now then,” she exclaimed, “shall we discuss something more … pleasant?  Hmm?”  She turned towards Eleanor.  “Have you been briefed yet upon the latest updates to our mission?”

Eleanor shook her head.  “No ….”

With a grin, Marianne gestured them into the room over to a large table that was covered with maps and papers.  “Please, come over here.  Bryce and I will show you what the goal is and our intended plans.”


	21. On The Road

_A journey of a thousand miles begins with one step_.  It was a lesson Eleanor recalled being taught back in her youth by the tutor she and Edward shared, but until the past year or so she hadn’t fully understood.  These days she understood all too well.

It was, of course, easier to begin the mission now that things between her and Bryce were reconciled.  Misunderstandings aside, the fact that they could share in their grief together for the child they’d lost made the journey more tolerable.  Add in the fact that both wanted to see _Le Loup Garou_ brought to justice, not just for what he did to them and Iain, but to all of the people of Ferelden, and focus was now easier.

They were now a little over three weeks into the mission.  King Maric had given ultimate command to Marianne, and it was she who now guided them through the bannorn on the hunt.  Before departing Amaranthine, she chose Bryce as her second, a move that obviously annoyed Rendon Howe, but Eleanor could not blame her.  There was something about the arl that continued to leave her feeling uneasy.  Trust was essential in a situation like this -- trust that someone would carry out Marianne’s orders whether they agreed with them or not, trust that they would not place their personal agenda ahead of the group’s.  It relieved Eleanor to know that Marianne also recognized this.  

Their group was medium sized, consisting of the four of them -- Marianne, Bryce, Rendon and Eleanor -- and a small unit of Amaranthine troops.  They made good time, but luck did not begin on their side.  Information that led them first to Dragon’s Peak and then further south proved to be accurate, but outdated.  More recent intelligence suggested _Le Loup Garou_ had moved well west, in the direction of Rainesfere.  That would be their next destination.    

Of an evening, Eleanor often found herself seated at the fire working on meal preparations.  It wasn’t so much that her skills in cooking surpassed those of everyone else but it was the way she could contribute the best.  Training with Rendon and his men was not an option as far as she was concerned.  Not after she spent the first night out making the attempt only to have his presence as a never ending distraction.  No, assisting with their food was a better option.

She was just stirring the pot of stew when she heard soft footsteps.  Looking up, she spotted Marianne approaching and greeted her with a smile.  “I hope you don’t mind a simple Ferelden meal for our supper.”

Her laughter light and easy, Marianne grinned.  “I should hope not!  I have been in your country for fifteen years, and I would not have survived long if I had!”

Eleanor could not help but smile in return.  “You’ve been here for fifteen years?  Were you born here?  You … you don’t look a day over twenty!”

This time the Orlesian’s laugh was deeper, fuller.  “Ah, _cherie_ ,” she murmured, “you are ever the charmer like your man, yes?”  Her grin broadened and Eleanor couldn’t stop a blush from racing up to her cheeks.  Marianne reached over, patting her arm.  “Perhaps I should tell you a bit about myself, yes?  Bryce, for all the discussions we have had, does not even know of my background, of why this mission was given to me by your king ….”

Bryce stood on the other side of the camp where he was finishing a discussion with the captain of Rendon’s men.  When he turned away, Eleanor caught his attention and waved him over.  “Please join us, _cheri_ ,” Marianne invited when he neared.  “I was about to tell your lovely lady here about my importance to this mission.”

Bryce smiled and took a seat beside Eleanor who handed him a cup of something hot to drink.  “By all means,” he said.  “This is a story I have been waiting to hear for a long while now.”

Marianne chuckled.  “I have no doubt that you have,” she agreed.  When Eleanor offered her a cup of tea, Marianne took it, gently sipping at the steaming liquid before she began her tale.  “It will come as no surprise to either of you that I was born in Orlais” she began.  “My family is from the area of Val Foret.  My mother’s family were minor nobles in that area, and she married the son of another minor noble, my father.  They were very happy together and as a result produced two daughters: myself and my younger sister, Sylvaine.”

Marianne’s gaze shifted in their direction, but Eleanor soon realized the woman was not so much focused on her or Bryce as she was simply looking beyond them into her past.

“We were one small happy family, two little girls growing up, learning to be noble daughters, the usual.”  Marianne’s voice paused for a long moment.  “I was but seven years when our lives changed forever.”

Marianne pushed herself to her feet and began pacing around the fire.  It was clear she had reached a difficult stage in the telling of her story, and Bryce glanced over at Eleanor who appeared as concerned as he was.  

Stopping suddenly, Marianne turned to face them again.  The movement sent her long dark curls whipping around her face in an agitated state, further emphasized by a flickering of emotion in her eyes.  She dropped to a knee closer to Bryce and Eleanor, said in a quiet voice, “When I was seven, my father was called into service by our Emperor Florian.  He was sent off to fight … where, I do not know, though I do not think it was here.”  Her eyes closed, momentarily hiding her inner turmoil, and when the lids opened once more, Eleanor noticed a new wall had been placed to hide the depths of it from them.  It was not enough.  Though carefully crafted, Eleanor could still see it.  After all of the sorrow and anguish she and Bryce had been through recently, she could identify it easily enough.

“My father was killed … not in battle as most are, but by another knight, a chevalier.  I was never told the story behind it, but later I began to suspect ….”  A small ironic laugh escaped past her lips.  “We will get to that later, yes?  It is enough to say that my father was killed, and my mother, my sister and I were devastated by his loss.”

Eleanor reached out to squeeze Marianne’s hand in sympathy.  

Marianne nodded in appreciation.  “Thank you, _cherie_ ,” she murmured.  “It was some months afterwards, once the battle or war or whatever it was ended, the troops returned.  My sister and I stood outside of our home and watched as common soldiers, chevaliers … everyone returned, for they marched through Val Foret on their way to Val Royeaux.  Maman was with us, keeping us from running out in front of the men and horses.  One man stopped and spoke with her, though my sister and I could not hear what was being said.  Maman was …,” Marianne sighed, clearly struggling to find the word she wanted.  “She was upset, but not in a bad way, yes?  Does this make sense?”

Bryce and Eleanor nodded.  “Bittersweet?” Eleanor murmured as Bryce took her hand in his and squeezed reassuringly.

Marianne’s hand rose, fingers snapping together, and she smiled, for a moment losing the pain from her features.  “That is the word!” she exclaimed.  “Maman was conflicted, you see.  Sylvaine and I discovered later, the man had brought Maman a message from the chevalier who killed our father.  This man, minor noble from closer to Val Royeaux, apparently had known Maman from years before and wished to have her as his wife.  Maman’s family had already arranged the marriage to my father, and this  man had always been affronted by that fact.”  She sighed again, dropping to sit on the ground beside them.  “I always have suspected, though I was never able to prove, that he murdered my father simply to get his wife.”  Marianne shrugged.  “Unfortunately, the beliefs of a seven year old child mean nothing to anyone, least of all her mother ….”

Marianne started to rise to her feet again, but Bryce moved with her.  Catching her arm, he guided her to sit between himself and Eleanor.  That the woman was in need of friendship at the moment, there was no doubt.  But he also sensed that she needed more than that, and he hoped that both he and Eleanor could provide her with the sense of peace for which she seemed to be searching.

Eleanor thought she might protest at first, but after a moment Marianne gave them each a warm smile of thanks.  Only then did she continue her story.  “The chevalier, one Thiérry Mercier, married my mother soon thereafter.  She never protested, but he never bothered to allow her to follow proper tradition in mourning her husband.  Upon their marriage, he accepted me and my sister … and for a time things were fine.  He seemed nice enough, was pleasant, didn’t bother with us unless Sylvaine or I were misbehaving.”  She paused a moment.  “At least until Bastien was born a year later.”  Lifting her gaze to meet theirs, she added, “Bastien Mercier.”

Eleanor caught on before Bryce did, her entire body stiffening.  “Bastien Mercier?” she breathed in horror.

Sitting between them, Marianne nodded.  She did not turn away as their eyes fell upon her, but sat very still.  “Yes, _cherie_ , the man you know as _Le Loup Garou_ , he is my younger brother.”

Bryce’s breath caught tightly in his chest.  Complete and utter shock washing through him.   _The man who killed my brother, murdered so many of our soldiers; the monster who has been chasing Eleanor and myself ever since White River …_ , his heart broke at the next thought, _the same man responsible for the death of our son … HE is Marianne’s brother?_

Marianne exchanged a quick look of concern with Eleanor at Bryce’s reaction.  In silent agreement, the two women exchanged places, Eleanor moving as close to Bryce as he would let her.  She slid arms around him, whispered softly to him words she hoped would reassure and calm him ….

Bryce, as if at the end of a long tunnel, heard Eleanor’s voice reaching towards him, pleading with him ….  Beyond Eleanor’s shoulder, his gaze settled upon Marianne.  Their eyes met briefly, his still wide with shock, hers softened by shame.  The haze of disbelief and confusion began to lift, and he leapt up after her, grabbing her by the upper arm.  She froze in place but did not struggle against him.  “Don’t go,” he choked out.  “I – please,” he begged, then dropped his hand.  “I know you are not responsible for your brother’s actions ….”

The tension surrounding the three in that moment suddenly dissipated and Marianne leaned up on her toes to lightly kiss his cheek.  “You are a better friend than I deserve, Bryce Cousland,” she told him, “for had I been through what you and Eleanor have, I do not think I could be so generous.”

Eleanor moved to stand on Bryce’s other side.  He wrapped his arm around her in the process.  “You are not your brother,” Eleanor insisted.  “We cannot hold you responsible for him or his actions.   _He_ is the one who must be held accountable.”  Then, tilting her head, she added, “Besides, you just told me earlier you’ve been here for over fifteen years.  As I understood it, your brother did not arrive in Ferelden until about five years ago …?”

Marianne nodded.  They sat again, Eleanor checking on the food once but otherwise focusing her attention back on her friend.  “No.  Sylvaine and I … we left Orlais much earlier than Bastien….”

 


	22. Realizations

Their hunt was taking them longer than they’d hoped.  Three months into the search of _Le Loup Garou_ , and despite the aid of locals they had yet to find physical trace of Bastien Mercier or his men.  They had rumors aplenty, and it was this guiding their way.  He was out there, they knew it, but so far nothing was panning out.  By day they tracked and traveled, hunting him.  By night, they rested and prepared for the eventual battle to come.  And during those evenings, Marianne would regale Eleanor and Bryce with stories of her past.  

But in the background, always in the background, Rendon Howe lurked.  It was to the point where he was nearly a constant distraction for Eleanor.  She said nothing to Bryce, of course.  Rendon was a good friend and though her relationship with Bryce stood on better ground than it had before, she worried that bringing her concerns to him about the arl without any proof to back it up might do more harm to them instead.  Marianne, on the other hand, appeared to be well aware of Rendon’s presence.  The one time Eleanor attempted to warn the Orlesian regarding this, Marianne only smiled and patted her hand.  “Wherever there is danger, there is opportunity; whenever there is opportunity, danger lurks.  The two are inseparable.  They go together.”**  It was more than enough to ease Eleanor’s mind.

Seated near the fire, Eleanor rested against a log at her back for support while drinking a hot cup of tea.  Bryce sat beside her, his arm draped over her shoulders and she leaned into the loose embrace.  The night was chilly, evidence enough that the seasons would soon be turning.  She hoped by that time the mission would be complete so they could return … home or the king’s camp or wherever it was they would head next.   _One thing at a time_ , she reminded herself.    

“I was nearing seventeen,” Marianne explained, “when I discovered that Bastien’s father was not at all what he appeared.  Bastien was about ten at the time, Sylvaine nearing sixteen.  My mother, Maker rest her soul, had withdrawn from us, seemingly given up on life.  At the time, I did not quite understand.  All I knew is that she would go about her day in a daze, barely paying attention to her surroundings or the people around her.  After a while it became too much for Thiérry, and he looked elsewhere for his … entertainment.”

The flatness of Marianne’s tone told Eleanor the man had come after her.  Shuddering, she asked in a soft voice, “What did you do?”

Marianne shrugged.  “What could I do?” she countered.  “The man was a giant, almost twice my size and all muscle.  I was no challenge for him; he simply took what he wanted.”  Her eyes glittered with emotion, Eleanor noticed, but there was a sense of satisfaction, too.  “If it was not me, he would look to Sylvaine and I was not about to let that happen.  I tolerated his attentions to keep my sister safe.  After a while though, looked towards her anyway.”  The look on the Orlesian’s face was one of pure hatred.  “I did not like what he did to me, but I was not going to allow him the opportunity to harm my sister as well.  While growing, I had continued my training, the skills that my father started teaching me years before.  One night we argued.  I told him to leave Sylvaine alone and he swore to teach me a lesson about interfering where I should not.  When Thiérry came at me, I pulled out my dagger, one I kept hidden beneath my apron, and I stabbed him with it.”

Bryce nodded, watching the woman closely.  “A dagger is not much of a weapon against a man that large,” he observed quietly but with no judgement.

Marianne nodded.  “That is truer than you know, _cheri._  Still, I managed to disable him … It was only much, much later I discovered just how accurate my aim had been.  You see,” she explained, “my dagger landed true, crippling him.  He lost use of his legs, for life.”

“What did your mother say?” asked Eleanor.

Smiling ruefully, Marianne replied, “For once my mother acted.  Thiérry’s yelling broke her from her dazed state.  She pushed me towards my room and urged me to pack up and leave.  I said I would not leave without Sylvaine, for I knew he would simply take her in my stead and possibly do worse.  Maman agreed.  While Sylvaine and I packed quickly, Maman put together a sack of food for us and a few coins she had saved.”  Marianne gestured towards her belt.  “My father’s sword.  Maman gave it to me and urged us to flee to Ferelden, to find a place to settle, to start our lives again.  She told us of a cousin in Denerim who would be willing to assist us if we made it that far.”

Eleanor and Bryce shared a glance.  “That could not have been easy,” Eleanor said.  “It is a very long way between Val Foret and Denerim.”

Marianne chuckled.  “No, _cherie_ , it was not easy at all.  Sylvaine and I were on foot.  We were days on the road before we met up with a merchant caravan near Verechiel that was headed towards Ferelden.  One of the merchants was kind enough to allow us to travel with him.  We became fast, if careful, friends.  As we traveled, I assisted the guards in protecting the caravan, Sylvaine rode with Gerard, the merchant.  I became quite skilled with my bow, a weapon with which I have always had great affinity.”  She smiled at the memory.  “And, for a time, despite the desperation of our situation, things were actually quite … good for us.”

Eleanor rose and refilled their mugs with fresh tea.  Marianne nodded her appreciation and continued with her story.  “We saw cities like Lydes and Halamshiral.  We traveled across the border into Ferelden, along the Imperial Highway.  We stopped near Orzamaar and I met my first dwarf.”  She stopped and smiled at the memory.  “I had never met a dwarf before, you see,” she explained, “and I had no idea what to expect!  We continued on through Gherlon’s Pass and then around the north end of Lake Calenhad.  The caravan was headed towards Denerim, and as Sylvaine and I had no set destination beyond there, so we continued to travel with them.  By the time we reached the capital city, Sylvaine and I had been gone from Orlais for months.  

“Gerard was a cloth merchant, and he was delivering goods to a partner in Denerim who supplied the royal seamstresses with the silks and brocades used in King Meghren’s garments.  Sylvaine and I were introduced to other cloth merchants whom Gerard knew, and eventually we met up with a client of one of these merchants, an Orlesian noble woman named Lady Cecile.  Lady Cecile knew of our mother’s younger cousin, Amélie, and was able to unite us with her.  Shortly after our arrival, Sylvaine started working for Gerard.  They had become close on our journey, and he offered her a job traveling with him.  I was sad to be parted from her, but happy she found something enjoyable.  I wished them well when they departed.  I was not overly surprised to learn a year afterwards that they had married.”

“And what happened to you?” Bryce asked.  

She smiled.  “I was allowed to stay with Amélie who lived with Lady Cecile.  In return, I offered the lady what services I could to repay for my stay, mostly by helping around her house, but when Lady Cecile saw me practicing my bow one afternoon, she immediately put me in touch with a friend who served in the king’s guards so that I could get further training.”  Her gaze dropped to the ground.  “I spent my first ten years in Ferelden in Denerim with Lady Cecile, and Amélie.  Ten years of living my life, of finding happiness, of making my way.”  She sighed.  “Ten years … and then it was taken from me.”

Eleanor frowned.  “What do you mean?”

“Amélie is only a year older than myself.  She had met a man shortly before my arrival and as of a few years ago, they wanted to marry.  I do not know if they ever did, but I hope so,” she explained.  “He had a brother, Simon.  We became … close.  We talked of marriage, too.”

Rising to her feet, Marianne stretched her arms over her head and added in a quiet voice, “Before a decision could be made, I started hearing stories, disturbing accounts of … of things that ….”  Marianne shuddered as she stared out into the trees.  

As she followed her friend’s gaze, Eleanor thought she heard a noise, softer than a breeze but loud enough for the ear to catch.  She stiffened in place, but she could see nothing out of the ordinary.  Still, she knew who was there, who _had_ to be there.    

Marianne turned back to Bryce and Eleanor.  With a firm shake of her head she continued, “When I learned it was Bastien behind such things, I knew I had to leave and hunt him down.  He had to be stopped!  Simon --”  Marianne paused, sighing wistfully, a fond smile curving at her lips.  “Ah, Simon.  He chose to come with me, but he was no soldier.  I was selfish and did not deny him his request.”  Her smile remained in place.  “We left Denerim together.  I decided to seek out the Rebel Queen herself, to offer my services and warn her of what butchery Bastien was capable.  Simon and I left Amélie, Lady Cecile, his brother ... anything and everything that had become familiar and safe for me in the ten years since I arrived, and we headed out into the unknown.”

Bryce frowned.  “You traveled alone?”

Marianne nodded.  “For a time.  We were told of a caravan of merchants that were headed towards Lothering and we tried to find them.  Three days later, we found their remains, the signs of bandits, and a new friend.”  She paused, a genuine smile reaching her eyes this time.  “Andaer,” she murmured.  “He is dalish.  A fighter.  Like us, he was on a mission.  We decided to travel together and … we stayed together.  We sought out Queen Moira, but had difficulties from the start.  We traveled across the bannorn in our search, and in the process witnessed first hand just what the Occupation is doing to Ferelden.”  She leaned towards them, dropping her voice so only they could hear.  “And during our travels, _Le Renard Blanc_ was born.”

Instinct had Eleanor leaning in to hear better, but with this announcement she sat back suddenly, eyes wide.  She kept silent, realizing the weight of the words Marianne had just shared, but it did little to dull the impact.  Beside her, she heard Bryce inhale sharply as understanding dawned.  “That … is not as surprising as some might think,” he finally sputtered.  Eleanor nodded her agreement with the statement.

Marianne chuckled.  “You both are too kind,” she told them, “and, perhaps, catch on to the smaller details more easily than most.”  

“Did you ever find Queen Moira?” Eleanor asked.

Marianne shook her head.  “No.  We kept looking, but as you no doubt understand, we found great need across Ferelden.   _Le Renard_ was kept very busy for a very long time.  We finally had to slow down,” she admitted.  “ _Le Renard_ required a … break.  It was around that time we finally found what we thought were the Queen’s troops.”

“They weren’t?” Bryce asked.

“No.  We found King Maric.  Queen Moira had been betrayed.”  Marianne shrugged.  “It did not matter.  We found a place to stay.  They accepted us.  Simon began training in earnest with the king’s troops, and was placed into the ranks with the Arl of South Reach’s men.  Andaer was willing to share some of his secrets with them in trade.  As for me …”  Her smile softened again.  “I was carrying Simon’s child by then.  We were guaranteed a safe haven for as long as we needed.”

Eleanor sensed something more.  “Until?”

Marianne nodded at her.  “Until.  Simon was sent to the Battle of White River.”  Her eyes drifted to Bryce.  “He was not one of the fortunate.”  She sighed heavily, eyes closing.  “He never met his daughter.”

Bryce groaned.  “Marianne, I -- I --!”

Reaching out, Marianne touched his arm.  “It was not your fault, _cheri_ , and you know this.  You were as much a victim as he and the others.”  She sighed again.  Shaking her head, she added, “No, the only one to blame for this is Bastien.”

“And what of you?” Eleanor asked.  “I can’t imagine being alone and with child, only to find out --”

Though sadness was present in her eyes as they shifted to Eleanor, there was a joy there as well.  “Though it took me a long time to accept what happened, I know he was meant for better things.  It was difficult, I will not deny that, but shortly after we heard what happened there, Kaytaryn was born and my life was forever changed,” she explained.  “I lost the man I loved, but I was given a beautiful, healthy child in his stead.  Andaer remained with us, declaring himself as her guardian, her protector.  She is with him now, among the troops with Maric’s camp.  Because, you see,” she concluded, “we have to rid the world of Bastien before it will ever be safe again.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  Earl Nightingale


	23. Interview With a King

They camped near a river bank on this evening, and as it was still light out Marianne decided that they would walk. Eleanor suspected it was more to avoid certain ears longing to listen in.  “Might I ask you something?”

Marianne’s smile was welcoming.  “Of course, cherie!  What is it you wish to know?”

Eleanor glanced up at Bryce.  He nodded, chuckling softly.  They had talked about it a few times at night before falling asleep, and Eleanor’s curiosity was the driving force behind it.  Bryce teased her for such childish interests, but Eleanor claimed there could be lessons to learn from it.  “You hinted before at a … connection, between yourself and  _ Le Renard _ ?”

They wandered down one side of the bank, Marianne chuckling along with Bryce, but it was a pleasant sound.  "As now, we had difficulty knowing where to search for our quarry,” she began.  “We started in the direction of Redcliffe and the Arl there. Simon and I both knew from things we had heard around Denerim, from nobles such as Lady Cecile and her friends, that the Arl of Redcliffe was both a personal friend and supporter of the queen.  We had hoped he might be able to guide us, you see."

"That must have taken some time to travel all the way from Denerim," Eleanor observed.

Marianne's laugh was rueful. "That it was, cherie! It was a long road for many, many reasons.”  She looked over at them both, smirking briefly.  "Oh, have no worries for me, mes amis," she quickly assured them. "The … difficulties we ran into were nothing, particularly once we made it quite clear we were not defenseless. Soon even the chevaliers chose to leave us alone."

There was a break in the river before them, a shallow area containing larger boulders and rocks that formed a natural bridge. Marianne chose to cross, then offered a hand to Eleanor to follow.  On the far side, Eleanor’s foot slipped on a rock and she landed hard, but both Bryce and Marianne reached out to catch her arm.  Laughing softly at herself, habit had her looking back over the shoulder and across the river only to find ….  _ Damn the man! _

“As we traveled, Simon, Andaer and I discovered many … opportunities along the way to Redcliffe you see. Most were women whose husbands were gone – either conscripted for the fighting or already dead – while others were younger women who were suffering at the hands of opportunists." Her smile turned feral for a moment as she recalled. Then, shaking her head and dispelling the thoughts, she continued, "You see, when I lived in Denerim, Lady Cecile was able to find me proper training for use of my bow.  Andaer prefers his blades, and Simon --”  She sighed softly, a fond smile curving at her lips even as she shook her head.  “Well, proper training for him came much later.  The point is that we continued to run into unfortunates who had no way to protect themselves or recover things taken from them.  They began as simple requests, and I convinced Andaer and Simon to let me give help where I could as it was needed.  We required no payment in return, but the people we helped were as generous as they were able. "

They talked in more detail as they walked, Marianne highlighting some of the more adventurous moments as  _ Le Renard Blanc _ , until they found yet another crossing. Once back on the camp side, they made their way to sit before the fire where Marianne continued her story.

"The rumors I heard in Denerim, the ones that convinced me I should leave, they were … gruesome, horrible, awful tales of an Orlesian knight, one who had become a favorite not only to the Emperor of Orlais, but to King Meghren himself." Both Bryce and Eleanor nodded. "With each tale, it grew worse, until finally the story of an Orlesian chevalier who had slaughtering an entire hapless village down to the last child; a man whose battle cries sounded like the howls of an evil wolf to his soldiers, and thus they began calling him  _ Le Loup Garou _ arrived. At first it did not mean much to me. But I began to hear more details, a partial description of the man here, a bit more of his background there … slowly, the pieces began to fit together into a more complete puzzle. He was in Ferelden, running amok, as you might say. And once the puzzle was complete: I knew.   _ That _ was why we left."

Marianne accepted a drink from Bryce with a smile as he sat beside Eleanor.   "But it was months before we heard Queen Moira had been betrayed and murdered. We started searching for her son, Maric, but we needed to do something." Some troops wandered past, coming off their watch and returning to their tents. These men were loyal to Maric, to the Rebellion.  

" _ Le Renard _ was well established by the time we finally found the prince … no," she corrected herself, "your  _ king. _  That was over a year ago now. They welcomed us and allowed us to make camp with them.  They were wary about having us join them at first, which is understandable.  It took some talking, particularly around his friend, Loghain I believe his name was …."

Mention of that name startled Eleanor. "Loghain Mac Tir?" 

Marianne nodded. "You know this man?"

Eleanor blushed a little as Bryce's curiosity focused on her rather intently in that moment. "He is a … cousin, of sorts. His father’s mother and my mother were cousins …." 

"Ah, yes," Marianne murmured. "Well,  _ cherie _ , he does not like Orlesians much, I can tell you that from meeting him, though after hearing his reasons I can understand completely. I would not be surprised if Bastien might not be part of the cause of his problem to begin with ….

"It took some explaining on my part, particularly to Loghain, though I am certain Simon’s enthusiasm helped.  It took months, but I finally convinced him, Maric and Maric's queen, Rowan, that we were on their side of this battle. I provided them with the information from _Le_ _Renard Blanc_ , of the things Simon and I had seen and heard in Denerim, as well as all we had gathered regarding _Le Loup Garou_ since our hunt began. In the end, I admitted that I was the bastard's sister, but I explained I had left when he was a child." She smiled to herself recalling the meeting ….

 

~ n ~

 

" _ Your Majesty, I …" _

" _ Until we have succeeded in kicking the last Orlesian from Ferelden lands and I have taken the throne, call me Maric, please," the blond giant urged. They walked in the gardens of the estate of Gwaren, their current place of shelter. "I want to apologize for the … difficulty you have had since arriving. I know that Loghain has –" _

" _ Non, Maric," Marianne hurried to cut him off. Stopping in her tracks, she turned to face him, reaching for his hand.  She was a bit surprised at how easily he gave it to her. Still, she squeezed it reassuringly.  "Many of my people who have lived in your country have taken advantage of the situation. If that were not so, there would have been no need for your rebellion."  _

_ Maric hesitated, but eventually she saw him nod. _

" _ That said,” she continued, “there are some Orlesians, in particular some who are close to King Meghren or the emperor who believe that they have the Maker given right to do as they please, regardless of the consequences. I am NOT in agreement with this and it is because of such behavior I sought first your mother and then you, and your cause out." _

_ Marianne looked up, deep into his eyes, willing him to see the truth in her own. "Le Loup Garou is Bastien Mercier, my half brother. He is a beast, as his nickname suggests, though I have not seen evidence of this in person yet. However, his father is the reason my sister and I left Orlais, and if the son is anything like the father, then the name is fitting.  Had I the ability to lose what traces of Orlesian influence that still remain in my blood, I would, of that I assure you. Your friend, Loghain?" _

" _ Yes," Maric replied. _

" _ He has every right to be angry, to be cautious. He made it plain and clear what my people have done to him and his family. For that, they can never be forgiven. I would not expect him to be any less diligent regarding the security of his king." _

_ They walked again, in silence for a time, Marianne remaining at his side, though she released his hand. "Your m- Maric," she finally managed and caught the grin he tossed at her when she remembered his request, "I would make a request of you if I may." _

" _ By all means," he returned. "It seems as if you have done quite a bit for the people of Ferelden. I would think it is our turn to assist you in some way." _

_ She smiled warmly, then glanced away lest he see her real intent. "I hope you may think the same after my request," she said softly. Halting once more, she turned to face him, her features suddenly hard, fierce, a fire burning behind her golden gaze. "Our fortunes were forever entwined with the events of White River, do you not think?” _

_ She saw him flinch, just the barest of movements at the corner of his eyes, but it was there.  It was a loss from which it would be difficult to recover.  “I promised you then,” he reminded her quietly, “that if there was anything I could do for you or your child in return for Simon’s sacrifice --” _

_ Marianne waved off his words.  “That is not my meaning, Maric,” she hurriedly assured him, “though I do thank you for your offer.  No, you continue to provide a safe place for me to keep my daughter --” _

_ “I would hardly call it ‘safe,’” he countered. _

_ “My point is that I wish to make an offer to you in return,” she clarified.  “Bastien is a menace, of that there is no doubt.  With each attack, on soldiers or civilians, he grows madder with power.  Someone must stop him.” _

_ Maric sighed.  He nodded, running a hand through his hair, leaving it slightly rumpled in the process.  “We have tried.  With each encounter, you have seen the further decimation of our forces.” _

_ “Maric, let it be me.” _

_ She watched him turn, eyes widening in shock at the suggestion.  “But --” _

_ Shaking her head, she told him, “I am the perfect person to send after him.”  She lifted a hand and began ticking off her fingers as she stated her reasons.  “He will not expect me, a civilian, his  _ sister _ to either come after him or fight him.  Oh, he might remember what I did to his father, and perhaps that is what drives his rage with these cases, but he will believe it will never happen again.  I can prove him wrong.  Andaer has taught me how to fight and beat one such as he … but it must be me facing him, and him alone.”  Taking a deep breath, she concluded, “I feel compelled to act against Bastien, Maric.  Though we are only related by half our blood, I feel I must remove his taint from this world.  He will not expect it, not from me.” _

_ Maric paused, staring down at her.  “What will you require?” _

_ Her smile was thin, grim.  “If you can provide me with a small group of soldiers, say twenty or so, I will hunt the bastard down and rid you of your 'werewolf' problem once and for all." _

_ He straightened, looking over the petite young woman carefully. A sound off to the side caught both their attentions.  Marianne’s eyes drifted away from the king and towards the wooded area to narrow down the location. “I will grant you your request,” he finally told her.  “And we will not see you off unprepared.”  _

_ True to his word, Maric did not allow her and the troops to leave Gwaren without supplies.  In addition, he and Rowan presented her with a gift. "I know you would not accept a gift in thanks to Le Renard Blanc," he told her, Rowan at his side handing over the item, "yet I hope you will accept this as a token of friendship from a grateful king and queen whose intentions are to keep a friend safe in the battles to come." _

_ A small, delighted smile curved her lips upward as she accepted the bow.  “You are much more clever than you let on, Maric,” she murmured. _

_ The king and queen shared a quick look, both grinning at her afterwards.  “I will accept that compliment, but on behalf of my queen,” he admitted.  “She was the one to see the truth behind your words.” _

_ Marianne’s smile widened and she nodded respectfully in Rowan’s direction.  “Exactly.” _

_ Her eyes dropped to the bow then, examining it more closely.  It was made of heartwood and stained black.  She held it reverently in her small, capable hands.  After a moment's disbelief, she hefted the beautiful piece, drawing the bowstring to test the tension. Given the newness of the weapon, the strength of the pull (and she could tell by its craftsmanship that it was a strong bow), she was a little surprised she was able to make an almost full extension.  _

_ Lowering the weapon, she turned her gaze on the pair again.  "Your Majesty, I-" _

" _ Maric," he reminded her gently. "The bow is called Death's Nock, and I have no doubt that you will make it worthy of such a name." _

_ Marianne nodded, pleasure flushing her cheeks.  "Maric. Thank you! I do not have the words to say …." _

_ Rowan laughed, clearly delighting in Marianne’s enjoyment of the gift. "If you use it to succeed in your mission, that will be thanks enough," she assured her. _

_ Marianne nodded, giving the queen a long, appreciative look. "I will," she replied with a smile.  “You may be certain of that.” _

 

~ n ~

 

"I was given the men I requested, and Maric and Loghain suggested allying myself with Rendon Howe and whatever troops he might provide as no one had heard from you since the battle at White River ended." This last was directed at Bryce who nodded.  “On our journey to Amaranthine, we scouted some, but it wasn’t until you both arrived we had our first sure sighting of Bastien.”

“Our chances,” Marianne told them as they headed back towards the center of camp and in a low voice so only Eleanor and Bryce would hear, "are much improved with you both here.  Never have I been so glad to come upon unexpected allies as I have with you!"

 


	24. Mission Accomplished

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Character Death

Their break came when they least expected it.  Happenstance more than anything else.  An unexpected encounter when passing through Lothering.   _ Ships that pass in the night _ , was a saying Bryce had heard before living along the edge of the Waking Sea, and it was one he felt aptly described this moment.  Nothing about the small patrol they’d encountered suggested it was Bastien’s group, except that they were Orlesian chevaliers.  But it was better to be cautious until they were certain.

Concerned he would be identified, Bryce suggested they hurry out of town without stopping to replenish which had been their original intention.  Of the two paths providing options, Marianne agreed to the one leading north and  up the east side of Lake Calenhad.  The terrain there would be more favorable should this prove to be something more than just a passing patrol.  Before they were more than a mile or two out of Lothering, a scout guarding their rear flank returned to notify them that chevaliers were indeed following.

From that point on it turned into a game of cat and mouse.  Marianne led them north along the coast of Lake Calenhad, sticking to the wooded areas as much for shelter as to hide their numbers.  In the end, they managed a two or three hour head start, but as they continued to work their way north, it fluctuated.  Nights in camp were now focused on watches, no fires, and occasionally quick departures for a safer place.

But Bastien Mercier was definitely on the hunt.  

Lying atop a hill of rock, Marianne scouted the area below.  “There,” she murmured, her finger pointing at one of the men in particular.  Beside her were Bryce, Eleanor, Rendon, and the captain of the soldiers.  “That is your  _ Loup Garou _ .”

“Is there anyone between here and Kinloch Hold?” Bryce asked.  “Any villages?  Farmsteads?  We need to keep as many innocents out of the coming battle as possible.”

“We should be safe enough,” Rendon replied.  “As I recall, the only settlement of any size is located just across the lake from Kinloch Hold.  It’s small and we are some miles away from here.”

“I can flank them,” the captain suggested, “and bring my men there and there.”  He pointed to two separate locations before them.  “We can make certain they won’t escape, but that will leave you to the close fighting.”

“Rendon?” Bryce asked.

He nodded.  “I will divide my men into two scouting parties,” he said.  “You can take one, I’ll take the other.  It’ll be tricky in this wooded area, but I think we will do better here than out in the wide open plains.”

Bryce glanced over at Marianne.  “What do you think.”

She nodded.  “I agree.”

“Then let’s see this done,” Bryce told them.  

 

~ n ~

 

Though their group was small and they were doing their best to move silently, Eleanor stopped when she heard a sound.  Reaching out, she squeezed Bryce’s arm to alert him.   He nodded almost immediately, quietly shifting to arm his shield and unsheathe his sword while she retrieved her bow and an arrow.  Once nocked in place, Eleanor glanced around, looking for …  She frowned.   _ Marianne? _

The trail they had been following had split again unexpectedly, and rather than allowing for an opportunity for their opponent to backtrack and outflank them they divided their already small group once again.  Bryce and Eleanor had two additional Amaranthine soldiers with them, Marianne had taken three others.  At this point, they were down to a two pair patrol which was unsettling her as much as the thought of the enemy they were about to face.

Bryce scanned the clearing. He heard sounds of battle off at a distance, wondered if perhaps his friend had found the main body of the Orlesian chevaliers. The captain and his men should have kept the majority of them at least a couple miles distant from this location, and Marianne’s patrol should be nearby.  Rendon’s group had headed north closer in to the lake.  Still, everything before him and Eleanor just now looked quiet enough.  Could it be they were only imagining the threat escalating?

From one second to the next, an arrow shot out from the far side of the clearing finding purchase in Eleanor's upper arm. Bryce heard her cry, turned and watched her go down before spinning back around towards the direction from which the missile had come. Centering his focus on the enemy in front of him, though he was desperately concerned about Eleanor, Bryce searched the thinning tree line in an attempt to locate the bow and soldier that had made the shot.  “On me!” he roared, calling the two Amaranthine soldiers to close ranks around him and offer what protection they could to Eleanor from another missile attack.

Loud, harsh laughter echoing from the depths of an evil so great it could only be imagined, burst through the area.  Shortly thereafter, the cracking of breaking tree limbs and clanging plate mail and weaponry moved closer. 

"Well, well, well," the voice, heavily accented, called as a giant of a man stepped into sight. "It seems I have trapped the elusive survivor of White River at long last …."

Bryce stood his ground, adjusting position only to keep Eleanor behind him, momentarily out of sight. He could feel his vision narrowing down, looking ahead as if through a tunnel while an ever increasingly blind hatred and anger churned and roiled inside of him.

A strong voice cried out from Bryce's left.  "Bastien, non!"

The distance between himself and Bastien Mercier was not so much that Bryce could not see his eyes widen in surprise.   _ Le Loup Garou _ , Orlesian chevalier, supporter and favorite of King Megrhen and even the Emperor Florian himself, was nearly brought to his knees by the tiny woman exiting the tree line and stalking in his direction, her bow raised, two arrows aimed directly at his heart. Surprise faded to recognition in a heartbeat.  Bryce noticed a trickle of sweat inching its way down the side of Bastien’s face.  Bryce’s only hope in that moment was that the bastard understood even a  _ hint _ of the fear he had caused over the years.  It would never be enough, and nothing he could do could change the past, but it would be something if that were the case. 

"Marianne DesMarais," Bastien murmured. " _ Ma soeur. Ou as-tu été toutes ces années? Nous avons pensé que voies étiez mort! _ " he exclaimed. [ _ Sister. Where have you been all these years? We thought you were dead!] _

Marianne made no reply as she ever so slowly moved in closer. When she reached Bryce and Eleanor's side, she whispered, "I will engage him, Bryce. Get Eleanor and your men out of range.  Whatever you do, get to safety!" Bryce hissed in protest, disagreeing with her strategy.  "Bastien is my  _ brother _ , Bryce! Only I can buy you the time you need to escape!"

Bryce stared at her long and hard, though her eyes remained on her brother, until finally he reluctantly agreed.  Turning, he moved ever so slowly to ease Eleanor up to his side.  The two soldiers fell in around them to keep them protected as they retreated in the direction from which they’d come.  Behind them, they could hear the conversation between siblings clearly, words flying back and forth in Orlesian with such speed and force and vitriol that, even though the Ferelden natives could only understand a few words here and there as they flew by, the meaning of the emotions behind them was more than obvious.

They’d just made their way behind a small cluster of trees for protection when a cry broke the air.  " _ J'attaque! _ " [ _ Attack!]  _ Turning, they watched in horror as the chevalier launched himself against his sister, still armed only with her bow. 

"Bryce," Eleanor hissed at him, reaching for his arm and squeezing to get his attention, " _ do  _ something! He'll kill her!"

 

~ n ~

 

Marianne expected the attack, had even counted on it as a distraction for Bryce and Eleanor to use to their advantage in escaping, but she was still overwhelmed by how quickly Bastien moved. Her arrows loosed, but he turned just before they hit and they did little damage.  She threw  _ Death's Nock _ aside and pulled for her blades from her hips – the  _ Tempered Faith _ her father had left her at his death, and the  _ Shadow's Bite _ that Eleanor and Bryce provided her with as a gift of friendship before departing Amaranthine. She managed to get the weapons drawn and crossed fast enough to block Bastien's first blow … one aimed to kill, of that there was no doubt.

Bastien was quick for a warrior, but he was bulky by comparison to her.  Marianne’s only real advantage in this battle was speed, and it was one she relied heavily upon.  Ducking, dodging, darting around, she continued to move in an attempt to keep him off balance.  At the same time, she manipulated her blades in such a manner as to make small attacks -- a nick here, a slice there -- with the intent of slowly but steadily building up to something larger.  It was all she could hope for in this situation, and one she’d prepared herself for.

The inherent danger in taking her brother on face to face like this came with his superior skill.  She had no doubt his father had seen him fully trained after her departure.  That training was now paying off ...

… until she caught a break. Bastien, so intent upon defeating her; no, on  _ destroying _ her, did not see the large stone in his path until it was too late. He slipped on in, going down hard and banging his head upon the ground.  Stunned, it gave Marianne the time she needed. She quickly identified a soft spot between his plates of mail, and thrust her blade in ….

 

~ n ~

 

Caught up watching the battle before them play out, Eleanor paid no heed to Bryce’s immediate attentions to her injury.  Removing the arrow and bandaging the wound was easy enough, but the distraction of the battle didn’t help.  More than once, he looked over, and he happened to catch the moment Bastien’s unhelmeted head made contact with the ground, hitting solid stone and dirt. It didn't matter if you were friend or foe, that  _ had _ to hurt. He watched as Marianne, breathing heavily from her exertions, took advantage ….

Eleanor lurched to her feet, her cry of, "No!" the only sound as it echoed through the clearing. "Marianne, no!"

Bryce frowned, wondering what Eleanor was about … and then he saw the movement out of the corner of his eye.

 

~ n ~

 

Marianne knew the moment she saw the flash of the blade in the corner of her eye that the wound would be mortal. Glancing down at her brother, watching the life ebb out of his eyes, both her blades sticking from his chest, she tripped and stumbled backwards away from him, slowly crumpled to the ground.  Instinct brought her hand to her side, covering the wound that bled too fast, too freely, but she smiled anyway.

Bastien,  _ Le Loup Garou _ , now lay dead.  That was all that mattered.

 

~ n ~

 

Eleanor lurched awkwardly to her feet, but despite her injury she moved quickly. She ran to Marianne's side, falling to her knees while frantically searching for a way to staunch the wound. Bryce was right behind her, their two companions following as well.  He knelt across from Eleanor, but his eyes caught Marianne's before he could help Eleanor search, noting acceptance of the inevitable there.  Resignation.  He wanted to shout a refusal, to deny the Maker this woman's soul, but instead he reached out and halted Eleanor's efforts.

"Bryce, what -?"

"Ellie, stop," Bryce told her as gently as possible.  His voice cracked, and he had to pause to swallow past a tightness in his throat. "There's nothing to be done."

Marianne reached a hand up to cover Eleanor's, to squeeze gently and force the younger woman to look at her. Reluctantly, Eleanor's gaze rose, and saw what she desperately hoped not to find. Unable to control a sob, she lifted one of her bloodstained hands to her lips to cover the sound. "Ah,  _ cherie _ ," Marianne managed through the pain, "it was … not to be."

Bryce watched the Orlesian woman's eyes turn back to his. "You two … have something … precious," she choked out. "The Maker watches … over you." One of her hands reached out, fingers scrabbling weakly over the ground, searching.  As Bryce was nearest, he halted the movement, returning Marianne's hand to Eleanor's while he stepped away for a moment to retrieve her blades. He grasped the hilts of the two weapons and brought them to his friend. "Here," he told her gently, taking her hand and closing it around one of them.

Breathing was becoming difficult, and all three knew there was little time left.  "Bow …," she gasped. Bryce returned momentarily with it as well. She pulled Bryce's hand to the blades and Eleanor’s to the bow.  "Swords," she told Bryce, "promise … your son … when old enough."

Bryce saw that Eleanor was unable to answer, so he nodded instead. "We will give them to him and tell him your story," he promised.

Marianne nodded. Glancing up at Eleanor, she pleaded with her eyes, watching as Eleanor leaned forward. "Please …."

Frantically wiping tears from her cheeks, Eleanor nodded. "Yes?"

Marianne began coughing, weakening more rapidly than she had wished. "Kaytaryn …”  Eleanor nodded again, but couldn’t speak, even when Marianne continued, “Denerim … cousin Amélie … let her … know ..."

Eleanor bit down hard on her lip to keep from screaming at the unfairness of it all.  Pulling Marianne's hand close, wrapping her own around it, she gave her what comfort she could. "I will see it that it happens," she promised hoarsely through her grief.

More coughing, and Marianne could sense the darkening at the edges of her vision. But there was one last thing.  Squeezing Eleanor’s hand, Marianne choked out, “Camp … my things ….”  Eleanor squeezed back, nodding her head in understanding.  Marianne took as deep a breath as she could manage, wincing at the pain caused by the movement.  “My … my daughter.”  Eyes closed tightly for a moment, working through another wave of pain.  “My things … to her.  Please ….”

Bryce’s hand tightened at Eleanor’s shoulder as he replied, “We will see to it.  I promise,” he assured her.

Marianne’s voice became a raspy whisper then as she began praying in her native tongue …. Finally, " _ Maman! _ " Marianne gasped, blood now leaking out of the corner of her mouth. " _ La mort est arrivé …. _ "  _ [Mother! Death has arrived...] _

Bryce leaned forward moments later, lowering the young woman's eyelids to cover golden depths that would gaze upon the world no more. Then moving to Eleanor's side, he assisted her to her feet. "We have to find the others and finish seeing to your wound," he murmured near her ear. "While you are being tended, I will come back for her."

Eleanor leaned into his shoulder as he led her away, allowing her emotions full release. The woman who had started as an adversary and evolved into a truly exceptional friend would now have to remain a memory for the remainder of her days.

  
  



	25. Reunification

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting today! Dad was in town and brought Mom's Mac to give to me so I spent most of last night and today getting it set up. Now aside from getting used to different commands and such, I do have it working!

 

Before departing in search of the king’s armies, they took the time to pay tribute to their fallen comrade, though the time spent was brief out of necessity.   _Le Loup Garou_ and his men were not the only chevaliers in Ferelden, and the longer they stayed, the better chance of running into another patrol.  Bryce and Eleanor packed away the swords, bow, and her few personal belongings with theirs per Marianne’s final request.  Bryce, some of the men, and even Rendon Howe built her a funeral pyre.  Someone in the group even managed a few verses of the Chant in tribute.  After the ceremony was complete and the fire gone out, Eleanor collected some of the ashes before the rest were scattered to the winds.  Only afterwards did they pack up their gear and begin to march.

Though awash with grief at the loss of her new friend, Eleanor’s thoughts returned to several things she had noted as of late; things that she finally dared mention at night while in bed with Bryce.

_“I don’t trust him,” Eleanor murmured.  “I am telling you, Bryce, he was stalking her!”_

_“Ellie, what would you have me do?”  Bryce asked.  “We saw her die … **he** was not at fault for that, her brother was.”_

_“Directly, no, but where was he during that battle?  Where were his men?  When we finally caught up to him, I hope you noticed that both he and his men were **clean** , as if they had not participated in any battle while the troops with us were all covered with blood and gore!”_

_Bryce ran a hand over her back in soothing motions.  “I will admit, Rendon is a tough bastard to like,” he murmured and heard her snort of derision, “but you and I both know that until the Rebellion is over, we need his help!”_

Eleanor had let the argument go at that point, knowing that nothing could or would be done.  Still, she decided then and there to make damned certain never again to be caught alone around the man.  She still had not mentioned the incident in the library at Amaranthine to Bryce, knowing that if she did, it would upset him.

Their destination was uncertain as the current location of King Maric was unknown.  Though their successes were mounting, and the fall of King Meghren was all but certain, Maric and his forces continued to remain on the move to stay safe.  Which, of course, made it incredibly difficult for them to rejoin forces now.

Marianne had told Bryce and Eleanor during their initial briefing that Maric was intending to meet up with her in about six months time south of Lothering.  That time was more than a few months past, but they had no further information to go on, so they decided to begin there.

They returned to Lothering warily, but one lone scout sent in to check the current status of the village confirmed there were no other chevaliers present just then.  Still cautious, they opted to divide their soldiers into several small groups and send them out to scout the area while Eleanor, Bryce and Howe entered the heart of the village itself.  

“‘Pretty as a painting,’ as they say,” Bryce murmured to Eleanor as they descended from the Imperial Highway into the glorified hamlet.

They passed a few houses, shacks really, heading into the main part of the village.  In the distance, they could see the Chantry building, noting also as they walked there were several templars about.  Eleanor instinctively moved closer to Bryce, not even realizing she had done so until she felt his arm slide around her waist giving her the sense of safety she was seeking.

Rendon led the way, and as they entered the main housing district on the northern edges of Lothering, he gestured to their left.  “Doesn’t matter who is in charge of the town,” he murmured to Bryce, “there will always be news and gossip to find at the local tavern.”

Bryce nodded in agreement.  Guiding a reluctant Eleanor, he followed his friend towards the establishment.   _Dane’s Refuge_ was emblazoned on the sign.

Rendon chuckled.  “Wonder if that’s in tribute to the victory at River Dane?” he mused.

“Would they be that daring in the face of the Orlesians, do you think?” Eleanor asked.

Bryce chuckled.  “We _are_ in Ferelden, Ellie.”

Rendon laughed his agreement with his friend.  “‘Tis the nature of the beast when you put it that way.”

The three entered the tavern which, given the time of day, was bustling with activity.  Rendon agreed to get their drinks while Bryce and Eleanor secured a table for them to sit at.  Bryce held out the chair for her before taking his own, and when he sat and looked over at her, he gave her a puzzled look as she smiled.  “What was that for?” he asked.

Eleanor just smiled wider, refusing to say anything.

Howe returned at that point, carrying three mugs of ale for them.  Taking a seat, he leaned slightly forward and murmured, “We have only just missed them it seems.”

Bryce’s brow arched in surprise as he took a long drink from the mug.  “How long ago?”

“Earlier this week,” Howe explained.  “From what the man said, they were heading north, up the west side of Lake Calenhad, towards White River, if you can believe it.”

Eleanor glanced at Bryce.  “Maybe heading to Highever?” she mused softly.

Rendon shook his head.  “He didn’t know.”  Bemused, he watched as Eleanor rose from her seat.  “Where are you going?”

Eleanor ignored him and turned away, walking in the direction of the barkeep’s counter.

Sighing in disgust, Rendon muttered, “Bryce, you need to teach that woman her place!”

Bryce chuckled while keeping an eye on Eleanor as she strode up to the barkeep and begin speaking with him and a younger man.  Her end of the conversation was spirited, if her hand gestures were any indication.  “Rendon, my friend,” he replied easily, “I think she knows her place quite well.”   _And it is right here beside me._  This last still amazed him, and he sent a quick prayer of thanksgiving to the Maker and his missing friend.

Howe made certain his friend could not see his sneer of derision at that comment.

Eleanor returned a short while later, nodding slightly towards the doorway as she arrived.  The two men rose and gathered their belongings before following her lead out the door.  Eleanor took a long drink from her ale, but left the rest behind.

She led them away in silence for a distance.  They were behind her and following, she knew that much, but she had seen Howe’s glare upon her rejoining them at the table.   _Good!_ she thought.   _Sodding bastard!_  She didn’t stop until they were a short ways out of town, reaching the rendezvous point they had agreed upon with their soldiers.

Bryce noted that they were the first to arrive, which was not a surprise given the short amount of time they had actually spent in the town.  Taking a seat on the same log as Eleanor, he asked, “Care to share?”  He saw her face redden slightly.

“Well, Danal –“

“Danal?”

Eleanor nodded.  “He’s the teen-aged son of the barkeep, Basil.  Anyway, Danal said he and his brother saw Maric, Loghain and a small contingent of soldiers leaving town three days ago.  They had been in the tavern the evening before, mixing with the locals, talking, … you know, the usual.”

Bryce nodded.  “Did Danal or Basil hear where they were headed?”  Howe joined them then, sitting further down the log.  He pulled out one of his swords and began cleaning it.

Eleanor nodded, reaching for the pack at her shoulder and dropping it to the ground.  She scrounged around inside and pulled out some dried beef to gnaw on.  It was nearing mid-day, and they would need to leave as soon as the others arrived.  Handing some over to Bryce who passed it along to Howe as well, she continued, “That’s the thing:  Everyone heard Maric and Loghain clearly say they were headed north, towards the Tower at Kinloch Hold.”

Bryce eyed her closely.  Before he could say a word, Howe spoke up and said, “That makes sense of a sort.  A while back, Mother Bronach, the Grand Cleric of Ferelden, changed sides in the conflict.”

Eleanor and Bryce, startled, both looked over at Rendon.  They had not heard of this at all.  “Why?” Bryce ventured.

“She declared King Meghren to be a demon reborn or something of the like, and withdrew her support, and the Chantry’s, from him and his rule.  I could see where Maric might think he could get support from the Tower because of it,” he concluded.  “Particularly now they aren’t having to worry about the Chantry chasing after them at every turn.”

Eleanor shook her head.  “No.  That isn’t where they went.”

Both men turned and stared at her. Eleanor kept her eyes on Bryce as Howe began protesting, almost to the point of demeaning her in front of him, but she saw that he would wait, hear out her explanation first.  When Howe finally broke off his complaints, Eleanor turned to look at him, struggling to keep her disgust in check.  “There reason I know this is because I know for a fact Loghain would never allow it.”  Her gaze turned, watching as two of the patrols arrived.  “First of all, why would you state it so plainly and out in the open like that?  Chevaliers come through here all the time, and there are some in the area who prefer them over Ferelden rule, remember.  And second …”

Bryce was rising to his feet, nodding at her first comment when he paused to look back.  “Second?”

“Despite the fact they’ve been here a while by now, why go north where you would have to camp in the open, where you would be susceptible to attack from any direction?  Though they’ve stayed probably longer than intended, the geography of Ostagar makes it a perfect place for Maric and his army to stay?  Not only could they keep safe, but they could keep their true numbers hidden as well.”

In the distance, Bryce saw one of their patrols approaching.  That left two more, both of which should be returning shortly.  

 

~ n ~

 

“You do realize we are on a fool’s errand, don’t you Bryce?” Howe was saying as they continued down the Imperial Highway towards Ostagar.

“Rendon, we have no better intelligence to guide us. I am in agreement with Eleanor: announcing in public, where anyone could hear them, no matter their loyalties, is not something Maric would do.  He may be young, and he may be new at this, but he knows better than that.  His mother would have taught him that as his first lesson, and the nature of her death would have reinforced it!”  Bryce glanced ahead of them, where the Highway ended and they had to resort to cross-country travel.  He paused the group for a break, a few minutes rest and opportunity to eat, stock up on fresh water, before they traveled the last miles.  Silently, he prayed to the Maker that Eleanor was correct.

After a short break and assigning scouts to check their advance, they continued their journey.  It was a long one, even after leaving the Imperial Highway, but after a few days they came upon the first signs they were nearing Ostagar.

Eleanor walked beside Bryce as they continued.  She caught an inexplicable sense that they were no longer just the ruins they appeared to be, but beyond that it was a mystery to her.  She knew the history of the place, hers and Edward’s tutor had taught them about the Imperial fortress there and its place as one of the most impressive of defensive holdings south of the Waking Sea.  But something else was nudging at her. If she were a more fanciful person, she might suggest there was a … presence at work.  Spirits, perhaps.  But she was more practical than that and refused to let her mind entertain such ideas.

It didn’t help that now several hours in, they still had not seen any people.  

She barely finished the thought when a mixed unit of archers and armed men stepped from the surrounding trees, encircling the group in less time than it took to draw in a full breath.  Eleanor could tell by the devices on their shields that they were the king’s men, but they didn’t appear to be buying the story Bryce and Rendon were giving of who they were.  Eleanor had pulled her bow the moment they appeared, several more of their men had as well, with the rest drawing swords.  Her gaze darted around, hopping from person to person, but she did not see anyone she recognized….

A sardonic laugh oozed its way forward.  A moment later, their captors parted, allowing another through.  Glancing over at the interruption, Eleanor saw him: tall, slender, brooding and dark.  Only one person she knew fit that description, though it had been years since they last met.  “Loghain,” she called out in recognition, lifting her voice above the cacophony of the men posturing around her.

The man barely controlled a smirk as he attempted to maintain a serious, stern composure.  “Hello, cousin,” he greeted.  Stepping forward, he reached for her hand, which she gave, and pulled her towards him.  No hug of welcome, no kiss upon the cheek, but she never expected that from him either.  He was a tough bastard to like, but he was family and they both were willing to put aside other potential complaints to recognize this.  “I assume you have news?”

Eleanor nodded, gesturing towards Bryce and Howe.  “They are with me,” she insisted.  

Loghain glanced over where she pointed, taking in the road weary men.  “Come along, then,” he grunted, leading them off in the direction of Maric’s camp.

As they trailed after Loghain, Eleanor took in the size of the king’s army and supporters simply by noting whom she saw present in the king’s camp.   _Surely their forces are enough to take the throne from Meghren once and for all, aren’t they?_  She began feeling a bit light-headed at it all, the numbers, the sheer magnitude of the job at hand, the closeness to a dream being completed ….

Bryce noticed Eleanor wobble a bit as she walked and stepped up to her side, sliding an arm around her waist in support.  Silently cursing himself for allowing her to push them so hard the last few days, he glanced over at the man she claimed was kin.  He was dressed in leather armor, daggers at his waist, a wicked looking bow at his back.   _Family tradition?_ he wondered.

“Maric!” the man suddenly called out, and Bryce’s gaze caught the movement of a tall blond man … the same features of a he remembered meeting so long ago when he and his mother had passed through Highever.

Eleanor felt the light squeeze at her waist, glanced up and saw the king approach, his blond hair gleaming like a halo around his head as the sun shone down.  The king’s gaze looked over them as if searching for something or someone.  “I sense you bring me bad news,” he murmured in greeting.

Bryce stepped forward then, waited until Maric looked at him long and hard and finally saw the recognition in the other man’s eyes.  “Bryce?” he breathed in astonishment.  “Maker’s breath, my friend, we all were beginning to think the rumors of your survival were for naught!  Many were saying you had perished alongside your brother at White River!”

Bryce winced slightly at the reference to Iain.  So much had happened since then, it was easy to put it out of his mind.  One less thing to deal with now made the days a bit easier to get through.  “No, your Majesty,” Bryce returned, “I was fortunate enough to be rescued by this,” he grasped Eleanor’s hand and pulled her forward with him, “lovely lady.”

Maric glanced down at the dark haired, green eyed beauty now standing before him.  “Have we met?” he asked her suddenly, a puzzled expression forming on his face.  “You look strikingly familiar ….”

Eleanor smiled.  “You and your mother visited my father shortly before West Hill, your Majesty,” she murmured in response.

Maric suddenly snapped his fingers.  “Bann Galen Muir,” he responded.  “Eleanor, wasn’t it?”  He hesitated, frowning.  “Or, was it Nan?  It was difficult to tell the two of you apart, as you were inseparable.”

Eleanor smiled, almost chuckling, at his reaction.  The air of confusion had been intentional on Nan’s part, but Eleanor hadn’t stopped her from doing it, either.  “Yes, I’m Eleanor.”

Maric gestured them and Rendon towards his nearby tent.  Inside there were places for them to sit and rest, and all three weary travelers chose to do so.  “So then,” the king continued after they all were comfortable, Maric prowling around the tent as he spoke, Loghain standing near the doorway, “by the absence of our mutual friend,” he glanced over at Bryce and Eleanor and saw them nod, “am I to assume that Marianne Desmarais was unsuccessful in her task?”

Eleanor was the first to speak, though she found it difficult to find her voice at first while remembering the death.  “On the contrary, your Majesty, though she lost her own life in the process, thanks to her skill and bravery, we were successful.   _Le Loup Garou_ and his men shall be a problem no longer … to _anyone_.”

If Maric was startled by the frankness of her comment, he did not show it.  Simply looking over at Loghain with an “I told you so” expression, he ventured, “That is a relief then,” while turning his attention to Bryce, “for as I am sure you know he was hunting down the relatively few rebel survivors of White River.”

Bryce nodded.  “Given the man’s … tenacity at following us around the country,” he explained, “I had gathered as much.  He was a threat that needed to be dealt with.”

There was a momentary silence then as Loghain stepped aside and some refreshments were brought inside the pavilion.  Maric allowed his guests to take what they wished before settling back into conversation once more.

Before allowing the discussion to go much further, Bryce began, “Your Majesty, I wonder if I –“

Maric interrupted immediately by waving the comment off, a smile playing at his features.  “Bryce, I am only going to remind you of this once: the name is Maric.  You above all others as Teyrn of Highever and as my friend deserve that much.”

Bryce was stunned into silence.   _As Teyrn of Highever_ ….  He chanced a glance over at Eleanor.  Despite her exhaustion, he noted the sorrow in her eyes.  It was clear she had made the same connection he had.  

Maric gestured to Loghain who retrieved something from a nearby chest and brought it to the king.  Maric took it in his hand and lifted it between his fingers for Bryce to see:  the Cousland family signet ring.

Eleanor stepped over to Bryce’s side then, sensing his churning emotions.  His arm slid around her waist, almost instinctively.  She in turn moved her own around his in silent support.  Watching in silence, she saw him take the ring from Maric’s hand, staring at it for a very long moment, before raising it to his lips and sliding it onto his finger.  “What – what happened?” he finally managed to choke out.

It was actually Loghain who responded to the question.  “After the disaster at White River, your father sent more troops to assist us.  This he continued every six months or so, almost as quickly as he could get them mustered and trained.  Three months ago, I was sent to try to convince him to leave Highever, to join our ranks.”  At Bryce’s look, he added, “We were concerned about his safety.  Meghren knew your father was sending us troops, knew that it was an almost constant flow.  We had reason to believe an attempt might be made against him.”

Maric gave Bryce a hard look.  “After Rendorn Guerrin’s death, I needed the other nobles’ support as well,” he explained.  “I thought perhaps if your father were to openly join our cause ….”

Bryce nodded, understanding the direction of the king’s comments.  Use them as political pawns.  It was the nature of being a teyrn, he supposed, whether they liked it or not.  “Did he join you then?  Was he here?”

Loghain shook his head, for a moment his eyes darkening.  “It was … too late even then,” he admitted, his voice quiet.  “Your father had been ill for a long while.  He was in no shape to travel.  He died about a week after my men and I left Highever.  The ring was brought to us by a messenger.”

Bryce was staring in Loghain’s direction, but his gaze went beyond the man, through him.  “He never knew I was still alive then ….”

“Actually,” Loghain added, eyeing the new teyrn closely, “he did.  Shortly before the battle at River Dane he told me he received a missive from Bann Galen stating that you had survived the battle but were on the run from the Orlesians.”

Bryce blinked at this bit of news, his focus drawn back to the present.  “He did?”

Frowning, Eleanor glanced up at Bryce.  “My father?”

“Something about a dwarven merchant?”

If it was possible to find humor in that moment, Bryce and Eleanor did.  “The horses!” they chorused, both laughing for just a moment at the realization that the merchant had indeed kept his word to return the beasts to Bann Galen.

Loghain turned away for another moment before returning with a much larger item.  “Bann Galen also sent your father this.”

Bryce released Eleanor and took the kite shield emblazoned with the Cousland family crest.  “Iain’s shield,” he murmured quietly.

Stepping into the conversation once more, Maric asked, “Loghain, will you show them where to set up their camp, please?  I’m sure they are exhausted and need rest before further discussion.”  Turning to Bryce once more he clapped the man’s shoulder and told him, “I am glad to see you survived, my friend.  We are very near the end, I think.  I hope you will be with us?”

Bryce nodded.  “I would have it no other way … Maric.”

Loghain gestured them out of the tent and led them across the bustling camp.  Along the way, he gave them a brief explanation of the camp’s arrangement so that they could find the things they would need.  Upon arrival at the area designated for them, Bryce found that their tents had already been established by some of their men.

“I will send someone for you when we have our strategy session later,” Loghain was saying.

“Thank you.”  Bruce turned towards the tent then, leading Eleanor inside while Loghain began heading back towards Maric’s camp.  Before he had moved far, he heard a sugary, sniveling, smarmy voice say, “My lord, I wonder if I might have a moment of your time …?”

Loghain turned towards the sound.  “Howe, isn’t it?” he queried, eyeing the man up and down.

Rendon nodded, falling into step beside Loghain as they began walking off in the direction from which they had just come.

 

 


	26. What Remains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a heads up to everyone: NaNoWriMo begins this week and as over the past four or five years, I will be participating. That means my focus will be on something completely different for the month of November as I work on an original piece of fiction. I have a number of chapters for this story and others ready for publication, however, and I will do my best to keep to my normal posting dates/frequencies. In addition, I have two other stories that I may start posting this month as well. I hope you enjoy the stories as they continue!

Later that first evening in camp, while Bryce was meeting with other nobles and strategists for the king, Eleanor excused herself.  She had her own mission to complete, and delaying it weighed heavily as well as ate away at her conscience.  

Departing after sharing the evening meal with Bryce and others of only vague acquaintance but whom she was growing to realize would likely become more familiar to her as her time with Bryce continued, she first made a quick stop by their tent.  Retrieving the small pack containing Marianne’s personal items as well as her bow, _Death’s Nock_ , Eleanor turned in search of the smaller camp where she would find Kaytaryn and Andaer.  

Maric’s group was large, some would even say huge, by numbers and in the space it took to keep them, and Eleanor soon found herself with a dilemma.  After several circuits, she still could not locate the elf and his young charge.  Further efforts proved to no avail, and the few people Eleanor approached could provide no assistance.  She was just beginning to consider approaching Maric and his queen to see if they knew, for he had sent the mother on the mission after all, when a familiar face approached through the shadows of the evening.  It took a moment, but as he neared, his shape and ease of movement gave him away.  Straightening, Eleanor met her cousin’s greeting with a polite nod.  “Good evening, Loghain.”

Though she understood the many reasons why, in recent years whenever she thought of him Eleanor always pictured him thus: a severe look and a permanent scowl.  This evening was no different.  “You look … perplexed, cousin,” he mused.  “Is something amiss?”

Eleanor sighed.  He was in close with the king, and by Marianne’s own words had interacted with her upon occasion.  She might as well try asking him.  “It was Marianne’s dying wish that I return these,” she lifted the pack and bow in her hands, “to her daughter, Kaytaryn, and her elven guardian called Andaer.  I was told they would be here at Maric’s camp, but I am having difficulty finding them.  Do you know of them?”

Eleanor watched as his eyes darkened at the mention of the Orlesian woman’s name, but Eleanor remained silent.  Marianne had explained and assured her that she had not taken his feelings towards Orlesians personally.  Eleanor chose to honor the woman’s wishes by allowing his reaction to pass without comment.  A moment or two later, however, he offered Eleanor his arm.  “I know where they may be found,” he reluctantly admitted.  “I will take you to their encampment.”

Accepting his arm, she offered a smile.  “Thank you.”  They walked in silence for a time, but Eleanor was busily taking in everything going on around her.  The number of troops, the different standards belonging to the ever widening variety of nobles gathered in support of Maric, the condition of the men and their gear.  All of it was noted and she would pass it along to Bryce later, on the off chance that he had missed some of it while busy with his own duties.  Not likely, she knew, but better safe than sorry.  After a time, though, she could not resist asking, “How are things here, Loghain?  Really?”

Loghain came to a halt for and turned to face her.  Gesturing around him, he explained, “It is what you see.  Our allies increase on a daily basis now, so I suppose you could call that a ‘good’ thing, but along with it increases our risk of detection by the enemy.  Do we have sufficient troops to face off against Meghren?”  He shrugged as he offered his arm again and she took it.  “That I cannot say.  I suppose the final decision on that will come with the outcome of our next battle.”  He started walking again, but after a short distance halted.  Gesturing towards a small encampment ahead of them, he said, “There is the camp you are looking for.”

By the light of the fire, Eleanor could see a small child, certainly no older than four or five years, sitting beside an older elf.  He was speaking, but Eleanor could not hear his words from this distance.  From a distance, however, it seemed as if he was telling a story.  He spoke, but also used his hands in the telling.  The child, clearly thrilled with it, clapped her hands and bounced in excitement.  She was fair skinned, appearing to have inherited her mother’s dark auburn hair and, if the lighting wasn’t playing tricks, bright green eyes.  Smiling, she said quietly, “Thank you, Loghain.  I will find my own way back when I am done.”

He departed as she stepped forward.  Nearing the edge of the encampment, Eleanor cleared her throat as a way of announcing herself and patiently waited a response.

The elf turned, dark head with a hint of greying at the edges lifting to meet hers.  Eleanor smiled a greeting, hoping it would reassure him and the child that she came in peace.  

“ _Andaran atish’an,_ ” he called over to her, rising to stand at his full height.  His hands opened wide, inviting her nearer.

“Thank you,” Eleanor replied.  She stepped closer, but slowly, her eyes traveling down to the child.  “You are Andaer, are you not?”

“I am,” he replied.  He reached over to pull the child to his other side, giving Eleanor room to sit.  “If you know my name, I suspect we have a mutual friend.”

Eleanor smiled sadly.  “Indeed, we do,” she agreed.

Silence hung between them briefly, Andaer’s keen eyes searching beyond her before asking, “Marianne does not accompany you?”

Eleanor swallowed past a lump in her throat, only able to shake her head.  “I -- I’m afraid not.  She … her mission was successful,” she rasped, “but at a cost.”

“Ah.”  He turned to Kaytaryn, murmuring, “ _Da’len_ , you should be off to your sleep.”

Obediently, Kaytaryn rose to her feet.  Before she could walk away, however, Eleanor reached out, wiggling her fingers at her.  “May I?” she asked, eyes meeting Andaer’s.  “She told me so much about her, I would like to greet her this one time.”

Nodding, Andaer murmured something in dalish that Eleanor didn’t quite catch, but it resulted in Kaytaryn walking over.  Large, curious, jade green eyes lifted to meet Eleanor’s.  A small hand caught the end of her braid, twisting the ends around small fingers.  “You know _Maman_?” she asked, her impossibly small voice nearly lost in the largeness of the ruins and camp surrounding her.

Eleanor could not stop the tears that leaked from her eyes.  “I do,” she replied carefully and with a nod.  She patted the pack and bow lying between her and Andaer.  “She couldn’t be here now, little one, but she asked me to bring you her things for safe keeping.”

The child’s eyes dropped to the pack briefly before flitting over to Andaer and then back to Eleanor.  “ _Merci bien_ ,” she replied, offering up a wide, genuine smile.  Eleanor nodded.  Kaytaryn, apparently deciding it was enough, turned away and ambled over to a tent.  She slipped inside quietly and with grace and ease.

Only after the flap closed behind her did Andaer speak.  “We both knew the dangers involved with this mission,” he said, his voice grave and somber.  “Before she left, Marianne asked me to swear that I would raise Kaytaryn in her absence.”  He leaned forward, resting his arms against his legs and sighing heavily.  “I had hoped it would not come to pass this way.”

Using her sleeve, Eleanor wiped tears from her eyes and nodded.  “I will be honest,” she admitted softly.  “After our initial meeting, I didn’t think we could become friends.”  She stared at the fire, a small smile tilting at the corner of her lips.  “In the end, she proved to be one of the dearest people I’ve ever known.”

“Hmm.  She had that way with people,” Andaer agreed.  “Time and experience allowed her to read them well and in many ways, better than most others.  She could tell friend or foe quickly.”  He sighed again, head shaking.  “She did so much for so many.  People will miss her presence without even knowing she is gone.”

Eyes shifting to meet his, Eleanor nodded.  “I am aware of her … unique history, shall we call it?”  One nod from him was enough.  “Do you wish to know what happened?”

“If you are willing to share the story,” he replied.  “Someday, when she is older, Kaytaryn may wish to know it.  To some, such things are important ...”

 

~ n ~

 

Eleanor sat curled beside the fire of her own encampment when Bryce found her.  Wrapped in a blanket and a hot mug of cider in hand, she had a thoroughly contemplative look when he dropped beside her.  “Did you find them?” he asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

She leaned towards him, nodding.  “Bryce, what will they do?”  

Her voice was a whisper, barely audible over the sounds of an active camp even this late of an evening, but he caught the words.  “Marianne said he is dalish?”

Eleanor nodded.  “I know, and he will know how to travel with her,” she clarified, “and I am presuming since Marianne left her in his care he knows how to raise a child, but Bryce, the road is no place for that!”  Turning in his embrace, she looked up at him.  “We both know how dangerous it can be out there!”

Reaching out, Bryce took her cup and set it aside before wrapping his second arm around her.  “The best we can do is make an offer,” he mused after several minutes of silence.  “We cannot force them, but we can suggest that they would be welcome in Highever.  Maybe not now, but after this,” he waved one hand out in a vague gesture to the entire camp, “becomes something resembling a government again.”  Staring into her eyes, he shrugged.  “That is about the best I can offer.”

He caught the curve of a smile even as she hugged him tight, and a bubble of laughter broke free from his chest.  “I take it you like the idea?”

She nodded.  “I will make the offer in the morning,” she promised.  

 

~ n ~

 

In the softness of breaking dawn, as the camp stirred back to life for the day, Eleanor rose alongside Bryce.  They broke their fast together before he headed off to attend his duties.  After promising to meet with him later, Eleanor went in search of Andaer and Kaytaryn’s camp.

In the brightness of day, it took longer for her to retrace her steps.  What were once shadows now played tricks with her eyes and memories, but she eventually found her way …

… to an empty fire, the last tendrils of smoke drifting lazily skyward.  The tent was gone, only a bare space where it had sat showing indication it had once been occupied.  She had noted the evening before that as encampments went, it had been on the spartan side.  The daylight and the reveal of even the smallest of hints of occupation, very few in this particular case, only served as an echoing testament to that.

Bereft, Eleanor’s gaze searched the immediate area.  She could see no clear path -- it was located nearly on top of one of the more traveled paths among those gathered.  Chewing on her lip, heaviness settled in her chest as she turned to retreat back to her tent.  “Travel safely, my friends,” she whispered past a growing tightness in her throat, ducking and dodging her way through the mass of armored soldiers, exhausted refugees and everything in between.  “Perhaps someday we shall meet again …”  

 


	27. Homeward Bound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I stated last week, I'm eyebrow deep in Nano at the moment. However, I have the remaining chapters for this story ready to go, so I shall keep posting on my current weekly schedule. Enjoy!

 

The days began passing rapidly, one after another, until one morning as he sat in front of his tent cleaning and mending armor that had seen its best days long before White River and weapons increasingly difficult to chase away the knicks and other damage, Bryce realized that they had been at Ostagar for over a month.  He had mentioned to Eleanor on a few occasions his desire to return to Highever, to see how his home fared in the absence of any Couslands, but each time he would mention it, she would withdraw from the conversation, so he hadn’t returned to that topic for several days now.

Bryce now glanced across the fire from where from he sat, watching as Eleanor worked on her bow.  The thing was in pretty bad condition, having been through much since their hurried escape from her father’s manor so many months before.  During their travels to find Maric’s camp, he had suggested once or twice that she use the bow Marianne had left for her daughter, but Eleanor had refused each time.  “That is a special gift,” she insisted, “one that will not be touched until it reaches the right hands.”  

It wasn’t worth the effort to argue about it, and Bryce instead made the decision that he would purchase her a new one the moment he came into his funds.  Funds which were back at his home in Highever.  A home she currently refused to discuss with him.  Sighing in frustration and at the absurdity of it all, Bryce turned his attention back to his blade.

“Excuse me, your grace?”

It took Bryce a long moment to realize that the messenger who had just arrived was speaking to him.  As he looked up, startled, he silently wondered how long it would take to get used to the change in title and being Teyrn of Highever.  “Yes?”

The messenger quickly explained, “His Majesty would like you to see him in his tent, if it is convenient for you.”

Bryce nodded, rising to his feet and setting aside the gear he was still in process of cleaning.  He signaled one of his men, one of the Highever men he had been reunited with in camp, to take his place and work on it.  Despite knowing that it was in bad shape and that it would take a good deal of time to mend, it was all he had for now.  Difficulties be damned, he would make it battle ready.  “Lead on,” he instructed the messenger.

The man hesitated a moment longer.  “Pardon, your grace, but his Majesty would like Bann Galen’s daughter to attend as well.”

Eleanor glanced up, her pale features now wearing the startled expression.  Rising quickly, she set her bow aside, straightened her appearance, and fell into step with Bryce as they followed the man.  She looked up at him, concern on her features, but all he could do was give her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.  Scooping her hand into his, he squeezed it gently, holding it as they wove their way through camp to Maric’s tent.

They entered together, Bryce sliding an arm around her back to guide her ahead of him.  His eyes took a moment to adjust to the darker interior, but when they did, he spotted Maric, his queen, Rowan, and a little blond-haired toddler wandering around between their legs on the far side of the space.  When the boy fell on his well padded behind just seconds later, his eyes widened in surprise and shock just before he began to cry.  Maric, laughing, reached down and lifted the boy into his arms.  “Ah, Cailan,” he murmured.  

Rowan, who had looked over as Bryce led Eleanor inside, simply smiled at them while placing a hand on Maric’s arm.  “Your guests, my lord,” she murmured.

Maric turned and spotted Bryce and Eleanor.  His smile widened quickly and he gestured them further inside.  Handing little Cailan to Rowan, he walked over to greet them both, a warrior’s forearm grasp with Bryce, and a kiss of Eleanor’s hand.  “Come in,” he told them.  “I believe you have met my wife,” he gestured to Rowan who smiled and nodded a greeting at the both of them, “but I would like you to meet our son as well.”

Bryce smiled at the sight, having heard rumors since their arrival of how this relationship had almost never happened.  He felt his heart break just a bit as the boy, who could not have been much older than a year and a half, smiled at him and Eleanor.   _Iain was just younger than you, my prince.  Would that you could have been playmates …._

 

~ n ~

 

Instinct guiding her, Eleanor reached a hand out, waiting patiently as the child stared first at her face, and then cautiously extended the limb a little ways between them.  Finally, he dared to reach over and touch her, and she felt his tiny hand close around her finger….  Eleanor shut her eyes quickly, trying to hide from the tears that threatened.

Rowan murmured softly, “I believe Cailan and I will go for a walk and leave you to your business.”  

Eleanor opened her eyes quickly, horrified at the thought the queen was leaving because of her reaction to the royal heir, but she met nothing but compassionate understanding in the warmth awaiting her.  Eleanor, eased for the moment at least, watched them as they retreated.  Beside her, she heard Bryce sighing softly.  Her hand, still in his, squeezed in silent acknowledgement.  Iain’s death was still troubling to them, even though justice had been served.

“I suspect that there is a story in there somewhere,” Maric observed quietly in observation.  The invitation to speak was there, but no push.  From deep within, Eleanor felt the faintest of tremors beginning, finding their way through each of her limbs and eventually reaching her shoulders.

Bryce was the first to respond.  “Yes, your Maj -- Maric.”  

Hearing him correct himself, Eleanor glanced up at the king.  She caught the end of a frown at the use of the royal title, but it was fading now.  That, at least, was reassuring if nothing else.  Another tremor started to creep through her, and Eleanor turned away from them.  Bryce would, no doubt, understand why she broke with more formal protocols and could explain on her behalf if necessary, but she needed to sit before she ended up falling over.  

 

~ n ~

 

Glancing over at Eleanor, Bryce saw her brush moisture away, taking note of her movement as she did.  “It is quite a story,” he explained vaguely to the king.  “One perhaps best suited for another time?”

With Maric’s eyes upon him, Bryce tilted his head just slightly in Eleanor’s direction. Their host nodded quickly before he turned to take a seat across from Eleanor.  As he followed, Bryce watched as Maric reached across and handed her a handkerchief.  Eleanor murmured a polite thank you before bursting into full blown sobs.  Bryce winced.  It wasn’t just memories of his son that haunted him now, but how he’d nearly lost her as a result that snuck up on him then.  

Moving to the side, Maric gestured Bryce to take his place so he could attend his lady.  “I do not wish to seem …callous,” he said quietly, “but would this have anything to do with the death of an infant at the hands of _Le Loup Garou_ some months ago?”

Bryce inhaled sharply even as he felt Eleanor’s hands freeze beneath his.  

“Ho-how …?”  It was Eleanor who rasped the words, but she spoke for them both in that moment.

Maric’s smile was a bit sheepish and there was a hint of a flush in his cheeks.  “I have my spies, and I had the friendship of a very unusual woman who was able to read people quite well.”  Sighing, he sat back, adding, “I was able to piece together what happened, but only just recently.  I don’t know how you survived such a thing,” he said, “nor do I think I could do the same.  But please know I will not betray your privacy in this regard.”  He sighed again, his head shaking.  “And this was not at all why I asked you both here.”  

A soft rustle at the doorway pulled Bryce’s attention in that direction and he turned to see Queen Rowan returning, concern on her features as she took in the situation.  He saw her eyes dart over to her husband quickly, gently accusing.  Shifting his gaze, Bryce caught the quick but firm nod that passed between the royal spouses.  Entering further, Rowan moved to Eleanor’s side, reaching for her hand.  “I hope you don’t mind that Maric informed me as well,” she said.

“It was Rowan who helped me understand what probably happened,” Maric admitted.  

He rose then, gesturing to Bryce to follow him.  Moving without question, Bryce strode across the room.  “We will leave them for a moment,” Maric said softly, “as I’m sure Rowan can mend the injuries I never intended.”

Bryce shook his head, hand rising between them in a slicing motion.  “Maric, don’t,” he insisted.  “We are healing as best we can.  Time will have to do the rest.”

The sound the king made was noncommittal, but Bryce was beginning to understand this king.  No matter what he might say, Maric would believe what he chose to believe.  

Bryce followed the king over to a nearby armor stand which currently displayed a beautiful set of dragonbone plate armor.  “I asked you here because I wanted to show you this.”  

Bryce surveyed the armor with a critical, if slightly jealous, eye and smiled.  As rare as it was, this was only the second time he had ever seen a substantial amount of dragonbone used in one set.  “Dragonbone?”

Maric nodded.  “Incredibly lightweight, durable and created with an enchantment that offers extra protection in battle.  What do you think?”  

Bryce chuckled.  The king’s enthusiasm was infectious.  “It is incredible,” he replied.  “You are a lucky man indeed to be in possession of it.  I can think of a number of my peers who would be jealous for such a set.”

“Ah,” Maric replied, his grin widening, “it is there that you are mistaken, my friend.  You see,” he continued, a twinkle in his eye, “the set is called _Cousland’s Valor_ , and therefore is unsuitable for a man of my position.”  Bryce’s eyes widened in shock, barely noticing the king’s good natured wink.  “You must understand, there is a certain superstition about the wearer of such armor.  If a warrior of another name were to don such a set, they will surely fall or fail in battle.”

Bryce laughed.  He knew good and well Maric was making up such a story.  Pride was a danger to many, and he suspected the king was offering a way around it.  Swallowing his amusement, he asked, “Am I to assume you wish me to take this … set off of your hands?”

Maric’s smirk was well hidden, but Bryce spotted it easily enough.  The twinkle of mischief in the king’s eyes told him that he knew it, too.  “You would be doing me a great favor if you would.”

Sighing softly, Bryce nodded.  The mark of a good leader, his father had once told him, was knowing how to pick and choose your battles.  It was easy to see this was a ‘battle’ Maric was set on winning and so he gave in gracefully.  “I believe that could be arranged.”

Maric’s only reaction was a soft chuckle of pleasure during which he led Bryce over to a table where he lifted a beautifully crafted bow.  “For your lady?” he murmured.

Bryce smiled and nodded.  “You do the honors, please.”

Maric turned and carried the item across the open room until he joined the women.  Eleanor, now standing, was looking much better, he noted.  Her eyes flitted over to meet Bryce’s briefly and he spotted curiosity there.  Giving her a broad wink, he nodded.  

 

~ n ~

 

Of a similar build and height to Bryce, Eleanor only had to tilt her head slightly to meet the king’s gaze as he spoke.  “My lady Eleanor, I was wondering if you might be able to assist me?”

“If I can, of course, your Majesty.”  His eyebrow lifted and a half second later, Eleanor recognized her mistake.  Swallowing quickly, she corrected herself, “My apologies, … Maric.”

His enthusiastic grin reappeared and Eleanor found herself echoing it for reasons she could not explain.  “Well, you see, I have come into possession of this magnificently crafted bow, which as you can tell by looking at it was crafted for the more capable hands of a woman.”

Eleanor, Bryce’s wink still fresh in her mind, glanced up at him to find bright eyes filled with lighthearted and gently intended teasing.  Unable to do anything but smile, she nodded as he continued, “It is called _Wicked Grace_ and I suspect would provide the warrior that uses such a weapon with as accurate and deadly an aim as an expert card player.”

Eleanor accepted the gift as he handed it to her, turning the object so that she could examine the design.  It was made of a deep purplish colored heartwood and inlaid with white rowan.  The two colors complimented one another to provide a delightful design, but she noticed that carved into the rowan was an intricate braid in knotwork that stretched from the hand hold in the center and radiated out towards the tips.  At the end of each of the two lines of knotwork were cabochon emeralds, a color that matched her eyes almost perfectly.  Genuine enthusiasm and delight welled up from unexpected depths, and she strung the weapon quickly, expertly, testing the tension and pull.  Stepping back from the king and queen, she lifted the bow as if to aim it, pulling on the string.  Satisfied with the tension, she lowered the weapon, and smiled.  “Thank you, Maric,” she glanced over at Rowan as well, “and you, Rowan.  It is a beautiful gift and one that I will treasure always.”

“I would be satisfied if you simply use it to defeat the enemy as we approach the end of our mission,” Maric replied.

“Husband,” Rowan interjected with a knowing glance over at Eleanor, “that may be a bit difficult unless a final push is made sooner rather than later.”  

It wasn’t embarrassment that triggered the hint of pink in Eleanor’s cheeks as much as it was the unexpected revelation from their earlier discussion.  As the queen continued, Eleanor remained silent, her gaze dropping to the bow as she inspected it closely.  “For, unless Meghren is defeated in the next few months, I believe the lady Eleanor will have her hands filled with … things other than weapons of war.”

 

~ n ~

 

Across the room, Bryce frowned as he turned away from the armor stand and walked over to join them.  Halfway there, Eleanor lifted her eyes to meet his … and the realization hit him like a blow to the chest in battle.  “You’re pregnant?” he breathed.  “Again?”

She nodded slowly.  “I –“  

The acknowledgement was all he needed.  Without waiting for any further explanation, he closed the distance between them.  Lifting her, he hugged her close and spun her in a circle before setting her back on her feet and giving her a thorough kiss.  

“Br--Bryce,” she protested in a soft hiss, attempting to push him away, “the king and queen!”

Reluctantly, Bryce released her, but before letting go completely, he raised his hands to her cheeks.  Gently urging her with pressure, she looked up at him.  “You will not leave me!”

Before she could answer, Maric’s confused voice interjected, “Leave you?  Are you not married?”

“We were handfasted,” Eleanor explained.  “Unfortunately, at the time no witnesses were available.”

Bryce snugly wrapped an arm around her.  “Our marriage just as binding as any sponsored by the Chantry,” he insisted.  He turned to face Maric once more.  “Though I suspect you both had many witnesses, I believe your marriage was the same?”

Rowan smiled.  “More or less,” she replied.  “It would be difficult to have a Chantry-approved wedding when the Chantry itself was, at that time, in support of a tyrant.”

Maric chuckled.  He exchanged a quick look with his wife who nodded in silent agreement before turning back to face Bryce and Eleanor.  “For what it is worth, should anyone ever challenge you, you may consider us,” he gestured to his wife and himself, “as your witnesses.”

Relief came from Eleanor sagging just slightly against him.  Smiling, Bryce squeezed her just enough to let her know he understood.

“You are most generous,” Eleanor murmured.

As they continued the discussion, Bryce’s thoughts once again turned inward, focusing on his -- _their_ \-- future.  Their marriage approved, another child on the way, he needed to provide a home this time.  A place where they could be safe when Eleanor’s time came.  After several minutes of thought, Bryce broached the topic with the king.  “From what I have been led to believe during our time here, your current plan is to confront Meghren in Denerim in four or five months time?”

Maric nodded.  “We are making final preparations now, and all things being equal, as we know they are not,” he added with a wink towards Eleanor, “we will begin heading in that direction in four months.”

Bryce nodded.  “With that in mind, may I respectfully request a leave of absence sufficient that I may return to Highever to put my house in order, so to speak?” he asked.  “Aside from establishing myself as the new and rightful Teyrn,” he winked down at Eleanor who blushed slightly but still had enough wits about her to use her shoulder to nudge none too gentle a protest in his chest, “I believe we have some housekeeping issues to attend.”

Maric’s laugh was contagious.  “As long as you agree meet up with us in Denerim, I have no problem with that, my friend.”

Bryce nodded.  Eleanor still looked slightly annoyed with him, but he also saw the relief behind it.  This would give them time they desperately needed.  “Then if your Majesties will excuse us, my _wife_ and I have a trip to plan.”

 

~ n ~

 

They departed Ostagar with a contingent of eight Highever soldiers early the next morning heading north.  It took them over two weeks to journey the distance to Highever, even utilizing the quickest route along the eastern side of Lake Calenhad, up the Imperial Highway.  Unlike their last venture through during their hunt for _Le Loup Garou_ , the trip was uneventful and they made good time.

They arrived in town of Highever as evening fast approached.  Bryce scanned the town as they rode through with a critical eye, noting things that had changed, others that were the same, and those that would require attention.   _I’ve been away too damned long!_ he chided himself, his eyes falling upon the unexpected wall built to separate the alienage from the rest of the population.  There had been a time during his younger years and his father’s reign when a wall hadn’t been necessary.  He couldn’t help but wonder if it had been created at the elves’ request or the general population’s.  

They neared the center of town and Bryce dismounted, opting to walk his steed the remainder of the way.  Eleanor soon joined him, and with their entourage following at a comfortable distance, Bryce took his wife’s hand in his and led her along the road up to the castle.  Passing through the center of town, Bryce noticed the fountain, one where he and Iain used to play in when they were little and they and their parents would come down to celebrate the holidays with the townsfolk.  

Signaling the soldiers to wait, Bryce led Eleanor over.  He helped her to sit on the edge, taking a moment to bend over and reach out to touch the cool liquid.  He spent a few minutes relating a few of the many adventures he and his brother had shared there.  “It seems like a lifetime ago,” he mused as he finished, his eyes staring up the road towards the castle.

Beside him, Eleanor leaned over to reach into the pool as well.  She sighed deeply, a sound that brought his eyes back to hers, an unexpected wave of concern settling over his shoulders.  The journey from Ostagar had been as easy as they could make it, but it had been rushed.  He wondered if she might be suffering ill effects because of it, considering her condition.

If she was, she didn’t show it, he soon discovered.  Instead, she lifted damp fingers to his cheek, and he noticed a slightly humorous glint in her eyes.  “I’m assuming by those stories you expect our children to do the same?”

His grin was sheepish, but automatic.  “Something like that,” he replied quietly.  “If they are anything like their mother, they will certainly keep me on my toes!”  Eleanor huffed softly, but he saw she was silently delighted at his reply.  Reaching out for her hand, he helped her to her feet once more.  “Shall we head to the castle now?”

 

~ n ~

 

Eleanor laughed, looping her arm through the one he offered.   _How far we have come_ , she mused.  She’d broken down the night before leaving Ostagar, after the announcement of their child, and told him of her concerns and worries that had still plagued her.  To his credit, he’d taken it to heart, after profusely apologizing for allowing it to be there in the first place, and proceeded to do what he could to reassure her.  Her eyes fell briefly upon their contingent of soldiers just beyond him.  He was going to great lengths to make her feel safe and secure as they traveled.  It was a start, and she had to admit it was working.  Turning, she focused on the road that would lead them up to the castle, to her new home.  For the first time since their relationship began so many months before and so awkwardly, she truly felt safe, comfortable …. _loved._  “Lead on!”

 


	28. Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little short, but I felt needed to be broken from the last one in preparation for the next. Enjoy!
> 
> In the meantime, still writing away like a madwoman on Nano (over halfway there! yay!). I will be out of town the week of Thanksgiving, but I should hopefully be able to post an update the Monday of that week before I leave.

The first thing that came to Eleanor’s mind as they entered the castle grounds proper was _STRENGTH_.  The stone walls were not just high, but thick and evoked that impression immediately, but not in an imposing sort of manner.  She was well aware they were meant for defensive purposes, but they were also welcoming in their own way.  

The courtyard was mostly quiet for the moment, though it was clear by its size and the obvious signs of use it was usually quite busy.  She spotted training yards on the far western side, a stable nearby, and just before them the main doors leading into what she presumed was the keep itself.  As the soldiers followed them in, the sounds of horses’ hooves clattering against the stone, two people exited the stables in a flurry of movement.  Bryce walked over to intercept them and for a moment, Eleanor noticed shock in their features.  Clearly, they hadn’t been expecting anyone, let alone their new Teyrn.

Bryce returned to her a moment later, murmuring, “Just a bit further.”

She nodded, handing her reins over when one of the new arrivals asked for them.  Turning, she followed Bryce as he led the way inside.

 

~ n ~

 

The moment he stepped inside the castle proper, Bryce was overwhelmed with memories.  The servants’ quarters where he and Iain used to play hiding games when they were small, the kitchen where he used to plead with the cook for a late meal after working all day training with Highever’s best soldiers, the library where Aldous used to bore him and Iain during their lessons ….

Glancing down at Eleanor, who somehow managed to keep up with him and remain by his side, Bryce gave her a smile.  It was late, the castle was quiet, indicating most of the staff must be at dinner or those who lived in town were readying to depart for the day if they had not already done so.  Exhausted himself, Maker only knew how Eleanor managed to keep up with him given her condition, though outwardly she appeared to be fine.  An urgency he couldn’t quite define and definitely couldn’t ignore had taken over since discovering she was pregnant again.  It had been driving him the entire journey and would not let him stop.  Now, looking around familiar halls, he thought, _I am home!_

He paused as they neared the dining hall, dismissing the men with whom he and Eleanor had traveled.  “Jansen,” Bryce said to one of them, “get some food, rest, whatever you and the men need.  Tomorrow we’ll begin recruiting more forces.  We _will_ have an army to take in support the king in a few months.”

“Very well, my lord,” the man replied.  He signaled the others to follow, leaving Bryce and Eleanor alone.

Turning, Bryce lead her further into the castle, winding his way through the maze of halls and eventually turning into the library.  Just after they entered, he was disrupted from his thoughts by hesitation from Eleanor.  Turning, his brow arched in question, but she shook her head.  After a moment, he guided her back to his side and led her into the small room just off the main library chamber. Inside, he found an older man sitting behind a large desk, graying head bent over gnarled hands that were busily writing in some kind of journal.  His attention was held by the chore he was engaged in, until Bryce cleared his throat.

 

~ n ~

 

For just a single solitary moment, Eleanor froze when they entered the library, chills washing down her spine at the memory of the last time she had been in one … but they disappeared quickly enough with a look from Bryce.  She managed a smile and followed him through yet another doorway.

The man seated at the desk brought back quick memories of Eleanor’s father.  How many times had she seen him over the years, hard at work even late at night?  Usually and preferably out among his people, there were times Bann Galen had to give in to the demands of duty and paperwork.

When Bryce cleared his throat, the man before them practically jumped from his seat, and the memory faded.  His was almost a comical response, but Eleanor bit back her laughter, opting to watch instead.

“My lord!”

He walked around the desk, coming to stand in front of Bryce.  Her husband’s smile widened, and he reached a hand out to grasp the elder man’s.  “Seneschal Dacen.  It has been a very long time.”  Dacen straightened, nodding.  At full height, he was only a bit shorter than Bryce.  

The subtlest of tugs on her hand pulled Eleanor forward a step as her husband continued.  “Dacen, this is Eleanor … your new Teyrna Cousland.”

It was still strange to hear the title used with her name, and Eleanor had to suppress a moment of panic at the thought of the weight and responsibility that was attached to it.

“Welcome to Highever, my lady,” Dacen greeted her with a welcoming smile, bowing slightly.  Turning back to the Teyrn, he continued, “Your Grace, I’m afraid you have us at a disadvantage at the moment.  The staff –“

Bryce waved the man off.  “No, Dacen, let them be.  We will have time for introductions and all of that later.  We’ve been on the road for a couple of weeks.  All we need is a bed, some food, a hot bath ….”

Dacen nodded.  “I understand.  I will see that it is done.”  Turning to leave, paused near the doorway.  Addressing Bryce, he said, “My lord, I – I need to speak with you soon, regarding the final wishes of your father.”

Eleanor leaned heavily against Bryce, weariness finally starting to take its toll.   His arm tightened around her in support as he responded, “Dacen, why don’t you walk with us?  I need to get my wife to someplace where she can rest.”

Dacen nodded, moving to the side to let them exit first.  As they left the library and turned towards the private quarters, he began,  “Your father simply said to tell you to ‘remember your mother.’  Something about how she would be able to provide you with all you need, your inheritance.”

Bryce stopped walking and Eleanor stumbled momentarily, but his arm held her close and kept her from falling.  “My moth-- Mother!” he breathed, interrupting himself.  Running a hand over his face and laughing dryly, he added, “Maker, I’d almost forgotten!”

Eleanor looked up at him in confusion.  “Forgotten what?”

He smiled, turning towards a nearby door and opening it for her.  Inside, he led her to the bed where they both could sit beside one another.  Just the two of them, Eleanor gave in easily when he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and gently pulled her closer, her head coming to rest against his shoulder.  “When Iain and I were younger,” he murmured quietly near her ear, “when the Rebellion was just an idea, and Maric and Queen Moira were still trying gather supporters; before all of those battles began; my father instructed us that if anything ever happened to him, or to either of us and we were separated, whoever it was that survived and made it home was to ‘visit mother.’   _She_ would be the one to help us forward.”

Confusion mixed with exhaustion and resulted in Eleanor frowning.  “What does that even mean?” she asked.  She knew his mother had been dead for years.

His lips pressed gently against her temple as he explained, “That means, my love, we will be paying her a visit soon.”

 


	29. Memorials and Memories

 

They might be home and he might have some inkling of an idea of what to do next, but it still took a few days for Bryce to put his plan into motion.  First, he had to arrange a private visit to the family burial grounds.  The visit would serve a dual purpose, and he wanted things private so he and Eleanor could have the time and space they needed to complete their grieving process.

During his preparations, Bryce met with the new Chantry priest, a novice who arrived shortly after his departure from Highever for the battle at White River.  She joined his father’s employ some months before Mother Sartina, a priest whose lengthy service dated back to Bryce’s grandfather, passed.  

“It is a pleasure and an honor to meet you, my lord,” Mallol greeted him.

Bryce smiled.  The woman was young, barely out of her late teens it seemed.  “I understand you arrived just after my departure from Highever two years ago?”

Mallol nodded, her dark hair shining in the candle light.  “Yes, your grace.  I was sent as a novice to Mother Sartina.  Unfortunately, she passed last year, shortly before your father, and I was advanced into her position.”

Bryce’s eyebrow lifted.  “And how has your … adjustment been?  I would imagine things did not run so smoothly at first?”

Mallol actually chuckled.  “Well, my lord, let me just say that where others had concerns, your father was all too quick to dispel them.  And I suspect that we both know Malcolm Cousland was not a force to be challenged!”

Bryce laughed with her.  “That he was,” he agreed.  Taking a moment to wander a bit around the small chapel, Bryce tried to find the words he needed in this moment.  “Mallol,” he finally ventured, “My wife and I would like to have a small private service at the family mausoleum for my father, and my brother.”

Mallol nodded.  “Yes, my lord, I can be of assistance with that.”  She hesitated, he noticed, her keen eyes searching his face as if sensing more.  “My lord?”

Bryce swallowed.  This would be the first test.  “Have you heard what befell my wife and I over the past two years?” he queried.  She nodded slowly.  He had spoken with Dacen that morning, alerting him of the basics of the story so that he could inform the rest of the staff and keep innocent questions from becoming too painful for both himself and Eleanor.  Sighing, he continued, “What you probably were not told is that my wife and I had a child.”  He saw Mallol’s eyes widen.  “We were handfasted, Mallol,” he assured her.  “The child, named Iain after his uncle, was killed as we fled the Orlesian soldiers ….”

Apparently, Mallol was wise beyond her years.  Either that, or she had vast experience with this sort of thing, Bryce decided, because she made no judgement after her initial shock.  “You have his ashes?” she asked gently.

Bryce nodded, but said nothing further.  The ache, the one that had been present since the realization his son had died far too young, blossomed to life again in his chest.  He turned away from her as he cleared his throat and struggled to find his balance again.  This was turning out to be more difficult than he anticipated.

Mallol approached him, reached out and touched his arm.  “My lord, I will be more than happy to offer a service for him if it will ease your mind and that of your lady?”

Bryce nodded again.  He took a deep breath and finally managed, “When do you think you will be ready?”

“Tomorrow, your Grace.  I will ask Seneschal Dacen to let you know, we shall keep this between us, yes?”

Bryce smiled again, though the smile failed to reach his eyes.  “Your discretion is truly appreciated, Mother Mallol.”

She smiled and something in her eyes caught Bryce’s attention.  “As is yours, my lord,” she murmured.  Bryce inhaled sharply.   _Is she suggesting …_  He considered what she’d told him to this point -- that she’d been a novice upon arrival, that she’d taken over with the passing of Mother Sartina.  Something wasn’t adding up, but he wasn’t sure he could see it …  Mallol’s lips curved in an understanding smile as she nodded, and it was in that moment it struck him.   _Your advancement … it was not formalized?  And my father … did he know?_  Bryce blinked.  Of course Malcolm would have known.  He’d been a devout Andrastrian.  But for whatever reason, he’d not let the situation become more important than the job at hand.  Taking a deep breath, Bryce relaxed and nodded in return.   _If father allowed you leave, then so shall I._

 

~ n ~

 

The next afternoon, as Bryce, Eleanor, Dacen and Mallol made their way up the hill to the family mausoleum, he wasn’t surprised to by the weather.  Overcast, grey, gloomy and rainy, it more than fit the moment.  When they arrived, Dacen remained outside the building to warn away any who might take interest, while Bryce and Eleanor followed Mallol inside.  

The room was good sized.  Though man made, its walls of stone gave the impression of having been carved out of the earth and stone itself.  Each tomb was marked by a memorial plaque, identifying many of the Cousland ancestors.  A strange sense of peace and rightness surged through Bryce as he entered.  Both he and Mallol carried torches, which they now placed in sconces near the doorway.  It was more than enough to light the entirety of the room.  That said, he, Eleanor and Bryce were all dressed in heavy cloaks to ward off the rain on the walk up.  Now it served a secondary purpose, to protect them from the chill.  

It had been years since his last visit to the chambers, and Bryce now glanced around the room in an attempt to gather his bearings.  He spotted several of the more ancient ancestors, a more recent grandmother, and ….

“My lord,” Mallol’s soft voice interrupted, “your father is over here, near your mother and your brother….”

 

~ n ~

 

Nothing could have prepared Eleanor for this day, though as much as she dreaded it she wasn’t about to miss it altogether.  She owed her son that much, and Bryce would need her support.  But all that aside, she hadn’t given any consideration to Bryce’s brother being present.  She gasped, the soft sound of shock echoing throughout the room as her eyes met her husband’s.  “Iain?”

“Your brother’s body was returned after the battle,” Mallol continued.  “As was explained to your father, well after the battle and the chevaliers had moved on, Arl Bryland sent troops back to claim and return as many of the bodies as they could.”

Bryce’s hand caught Eleanor’s, pulling it to his side in a sudden movement.  Eleanor did not fight him.  When he started across the room a moment later, she followed.

Eyes scanning the plaques, Eleanor located his mother’s first.

_Theresia Cousland, beloved wife and mother, gentle soul and loving companion._  

His hand tightened around hers and Eleanor glanced up at him in concern for a moment to find his eyes closed.  She was about to speak, to ask what she could do, when they opened again.  A moment later, he reached his hand out, tracing the engraved words.  Turning her attention back to the plaque, Eleanor heard Bryce begin to whisper.  Barely audible, she had to lean towards him to hear, “Mother, I hope Father and Iain are with you now.  I hope you keep watch over your grandson who never had a chance at life.  I hope one day we can be together again, and you can meet the woman who, thanks to your early teachings, I was able to come to love as Father loved you.”

Giving him a moment, Eleanor shifted to the next plaque over.   _Iain Cousland_.  How long had it been since she last thought of him?  She almost felt guilty … but for the memory of his visitation in her dreams.  

_You knew, didn’t you?_ she thought as she knelt down beside the marker.   _You knew that Bryce and I would find a love stronger than what you and I shared.  You knew that our partnership would become both bound by love and respect._  Eleanor sighed heavily.   _Iain, I loved you, but I love Bryce now.  I honored our friendship, our relationship, as best I could.  I hope you don’t mind._ She felt for the pouch of ashes in her pocket, covering it with her left hand.   _I hope you can watch out for him._

A squeeze at her hand pulled her attention back to the present just as Bryce knelt beside her.  When he rose a moment later, Eleanor accepted his hand of assistance and followed.

“Shall we begin?” Mallol asked.

Bryce glanced at Eleanor who nodded.  “Please,” they said softly and in unison.

The service was short, but poignant. Eleanor found she was relying on the physical contact with Bryce -- they still held each other’s hand -- to help her through the myriad of emotions that accompanied it.  As Mallol recited the Chant, interpreting the passages for them both, Eleanor was surprised at the sense of peace that came with it.  Not that she wasn’t devout in her own way, but for the first time in a long time the words spoke to her, reaching out to comfort, soothing the worst of the pain and ache that always seemed to rise when thinking of her firstborn.  If nothing else, it helped in the moment when the pain was at its worst and nearly as fresh as the day Iain had died.  It was something, and the unexpectedness of it made it all the better.

Tribute was paid to Malcolm Cousland and the elder Iain first.  When that concluded, Eleanor retrieved the pouch of ashes and turned towards Bryce.  She turned her hand behind his, gently settling the pouch in his palm and closing his fingers around it.  Sniffing softly and ignoring the tears that fell, she nodded at him and he handed them over to Mallol who stood on his other side.

 

~ n ~

 

Bryce stared at the pouch for a long, pained moment.  The evening before he had told Eleanor that Mallol was willing to give the child a proper tribute, and then held her as she cried in both relief and despair.  Now, despite her own pain and sorry, Eleanor was exhibiting a strong determination to see the process through.  Pride swelled in his chest, warming him through his soul, and as he handed the ashes to Mallol, he squeezed Eleanor’s hand in reassurance.

This was the final goodbye they had wanted, and both were determined to go through with it, yet he heard Eleanor’s soft sob as she stood beside him and Mallol began the service.  Wrapping his arm around Eleanor’s shoulders, he pulled her close.  Mallol’s voice was calming, soothing, and, as before, the verses she had chosen were more than appropriate.  In the back of his mind, Bryce reminded himself to find the young woman an appropriate thank you for her kindness and consideration.  

Mallol completed her recitations.  Stepping forward slowly, quietly, she approached the wall and opened the small space next to the elder Iain.  The bag of ashes was placed inside, covered afterwards by a small plaque which was easily secured.  On it was inscribed, _Iain, son of Bryce and Eleanor, the Maker’s light and joy._ When she turned back around, she nodded at both Bryce and Eleanor, murmuring a soft prayer for them.  Bryce nodded back at her as she turned to leave.

He and Eleanor were now alone.

With Mallol gone, Bryce pushed aside his grief.  At most they had mere minutes to accomplish what he needed to do without interruption, and he was determined to get it done.  Releasing his hold on Eleanor, he stepped closer to the vaults.

Eleanor followed, and he knew she’d seen the plaque when he heard her whisper painfully, “Oh, Bryce!”

Bryce paused to kiss her forehead.  “I think my father was extremely lucky to have been blessed with that woman when he was,” he murmured.  “Not only is she tolerant, but she is discrete and understanding.”

Eleanor nodded, wiping her eyes and dropping to her knees.  He watched her trace her fingers over the words, silently mouthing the words as she did so.  Unable to resist, he joined her and did the same.

When he rose again, he took a deep breath and swallowed hard.  “Ok, Ellie, I need you to bear with me just a moment,” he told her once he was certain he could move forward again.

Eleanor stood beside him, a confused expression on her face while she straightened her cloak.  “What do you mean?”

Bryce moved to his mother’s plaque and felt around the edges.  “Remember when I mentioned that my father told me I was to ‘visit my mother’ upon my return?”

Eleanor nodded.  She said nothing for a long moment and he couldn’t spare her a look, but a moment later he knew she’d figured it out when she exclaimed in hushed whisper, “Her memorial?”

Bryce nodded.  Finally finding the release he was looking for, it give way beneath his fingertips.  The plaque shifted, sliding to the side, and opened the space behind.  Several inches inside was the jar containing his mother’s ashes, but behind it the torchlight was glinting off of something ….

Bryce gently pushed the jar to the side, hoping he could do this quickly and without Mallol or Dacen hearing, though he knew Dacen was aware of what was going on.  His father would have at the very least hinted to the seneschal where he would hide away the family heirlooms so the Orlesians would not get them if they arrived before Bryce returned.  His hand caught hold on the first item, carefully removing Iain’s shield.  Beside him, Eleanor stepped up, her hand rising to hold the jar of ashes in place.  Bryce gave her a quick smile of appreciation and set the shield against the wall.  Reaching inside again, his hand closed over the cold metal of the family longsword.  He noticed Eleanor’s eyes widen in astonishment.  It was a beautiful piece, and was often commented upon by others, but Bryce knew it to be just as effective and deadly, too.  Handing the blade to his wife, he then replaced the plaque, listening for a soft _click_ as it slid into place.

Hands now free, Bryce took the blade from Eleanor and slid it in his belt, having left his usual sheath empty for this very reason.  Next he lifted the shield.  Both items were made of fine silverite, shining brightly despite having been entombed in the dank, damp depths for Maker knew how long.  Bryce removed his cloak for a moment, handed it to Eleanor, and lifted the shield into position on his back.  He retrieved the cloak then, and once it was adjusted he reached for Eleanor’s arm.  “Ready?” he asked softly.

She took a deep breath, but nodded.  “Yes.”  Arm in arm, they exited the mausoleum to join Mallol and Dacen on the walk back to the keep.

 

~ n ~

 

Later that afternoon, Bryce led Eleanor up to the ramparts of the castle.  He guided her carefully around the walkway, pointing out the different points of interest that could be viewed from this height.  They came to a halt near the front of the keep, looking down over the town below and the roads that traveled along the southwestern coast of the Waking Sea.  “I used to come up here to think when I was a child,” Bryce murmured.  He stood behind her, pressing her gently against the wall, holding her tightly in his arms.  She made no protest and in fact wrapped her arms around his at her waist.  “I always found it to be a peaceful place.”

The rain and gloomy skies had at last given way to some sunshine, and in the distance, they could view the happenings in the town below.

A moment later, she straightened suddenly, bumping her head against his chin.  Bryce released her and she leaned against the wall, shielding her eyes and pointing in the distance.  “Bryce, what is that?” she asked.

Rubbing at his chin, he returned, “Hmmm?” and directed his gaze to where she indicated.  Squinting, he too raised a hand to block the sun from his eyes.  “Looks like a rider,” he replied near her ear, tightening his arm around her ever so slightly.  He shrugged.  “Two, perhaps?  Someone headed to the town from the look of things.”

Eleanor said nothing, but they both remained watching the tiny speck as it continued to move towards Highever.  The progression was not slow, nor was it fast, and it was some time later they noticed it enter the gates at the far end of town.  It soon became lost as it wound its way through the myriad of streets.  

Eleanor sighed softly and Bryce decided it was as good a time as any to head back down.  When they arrived, exiting the stairwell near the front doors, they could hear the clattering of horse hooves in the courtyard just beyond.  Curiosity now peaked, Bryce opened the door and led Eleanor through.

Out in the courtyard, they saw two riders approaching.  Both had dismounted near the gates and were now leading their mounts towards the stables.  But it wasn’t the riders who caught their attention just yet, but the horses.  One was a beautiful grey animal, but the other was darker.  And familiar.   _How many grey/dark horse combinations are there in Ferelden,_ Bryce wondered silently, _and how many would know to come here …._  

Eleanor, however, was the first to make the connection.  With a sudden gasp of recognition, she broke from Bryce’s grasp and hurried across the courtyard.  “Nan!”

Following, a smile curving at his lips as he realized who their guest was, he signaled one of the stable boys over to take the animals  

When he joined them, Eleanor was embracing her friend, tears of delight rolling down her cheeks.  Nan was patting Eleanor’s shoulders in return, and both were talking over each other.  From what Bryce could follow they seemed to be understanding the other well enough.  “Welcome to Highever, Nan.”

Nan glanced up at the Teyrn, nodding at him in respect.  “My lord,” she greeted him.  She gave him a cheeky smile and he grinned back at her.  They might not have known each other well before Eleanor and Bryce had fled, but Bryce could tell that the woman understood him well enough.  “I have been sent by King Maric,” she continued.  “Something about fond memories of our presence?”

Eleanor laughed then, a delighted sound that Bryce had not heard for a very long time.  “Come inside with me and I will explain how our soon-to-be sovereign almost mistook us for each other!”

Shaking his head, Bryce turned towards the man at arms who had accompanied the woman.  He recognized Maric’s device emblazoned on the man’s shield.  “Surely it was not just the two of you?” he queried, leading the man indoors.

The man chuckled.  “If the woman had her way it would have been, but no, my lord.  Bann Galen sent another of his men along with us.  He had relatives in Highever town, so we agreed to leave him off there.”

Bryce nodded.  Walking the man towards the kitchens, he gestured towards a doorway and told him, “Tell the cook I asked for her to provide you with a meal.  When must you leave?”

“My lord, the king would have me meet up with him near Redcliffe in a month’s time.  After that I believe he will head towards Denerim within another month.”

Bryce nodded.  “If you would like to stay and rest up, please feel free.  I can direct you to Seneschal Dacen for further instructions.  If you have family of your own you need visit before reuniting with the king, then you are free to leave at your own convenience.”  

The man seemed startled, but he nodded.  “I – I do have a sister at Rainesfere,” he murmured.  “I thank you, my lord!  I will accept your hospitality for the night and leave in the morning.”

Bryce nodded and parted ways with the man.  Frowning slightly, he wondered where he might find his wife and her companion.  Some time, and several rooms later, he found them in his and Eleanor’s private chambers, sitting near the fire talking.  For a long moment, he stood in the doorway, arms folded across his chest as he watched.  Eleanor was animated, telling Nan of her adventures with him for the past two years.  Nan was listening with her undivided attention, though he caught a glance tossed over at him once.  Though she smiled at Eleanor, Nano’s look told him a thing or two.  Bryce almost laughed, but instead nodded at the woman, hoping she could see that he and Eleanor were happy together.

 

~ n ~

 

Eleanor realized that her husband must be in the room when Nan’s eyes drifted away briefly.  When it returned, a look of satisfaction settling there, she guessed that Bryce had left.  “He is my husband, you know,” she murmured.

Nan sniffed.  “We shall see just what kind of husband he is, I think,” she replied indifferently.

Eleanor chuckled and smiled.  Some things about Nan, Maker love her, just wouldn’t change.  “I’m so glad to see you again, Nan,” she breathed.

Nan leaned forward and took her friends’ hands in her own.  Squeezing them in understanding, she told her, “And I am glad to see you.  We have a lot to talk about.”

Eleanor nodded.  “Yes, my friend, that we do.  Shall I start with our escape from my father’s holdings?”

Nan’s grin said it all, and Eleanor soon found herself wound up in the tale of her and Bryce’s journey for the past two years.

 


	30. Siege Mentality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back from Thanksgiving trip, Nano is almost done, and so is this story! Just three more chapters to go!

“If you think you are leaving me behind at this late date, you are insane!”

Bryce sighed, rising from his desk in the study where Eleanor had cornered him.  He was making final preparations for the trip to Denerim.  The weeks were whittling down, and he now had sufficient forces he could join with the king’s in Maric’s attempt to retake Denerim and, they hoped, defeat the Usurper.  He was prepared for Eleanor to fight him on this, and as such was not surprised she was here arguing her position.  

“I can’t protect you and our child if you are in the thick of battle, now can I?” he argued mildly.

Eleanor threw a dark glare at him.  Bryce coughed to cover his amusement.   _Such a fierce woman I’ve married_ , he mused.  “I can protect myself and our child just fine!” she told him with authority.  

Rounding his desk, he reached for her.  His intention was to hold her by her shoulders, but she darted back a quick step and he resorted to grasping her hands in his instead.  “Where are you going to find armor to fit you?” he asked quietly.  “Ellie, you are six months along, more possibly.  How can you even consider –!”

“You will _not_ leave me behind!” she insisted, fire glinting in her eyes.

Sighing, Bryce pulled her close until she was in his arms, “I have no intention of leaving you behind,” he finally allowed.  She’d stood tensely at first, but with that announcement she relaxed.  “You, and Nan, will be coming, though I will insist that you do _not_ participate in the battles we will surely face.”

She sighed, dropping her head against his chest and nodding slowly.  “Agreed,” she murmured.

Bryce smiled at the reluctance he heard in her voice, but the fact that she had agreed, he felt, was a step in the right direction.  Reaching into his pocket with his right hand, he grasped her left hand with the same and turned it, palm up.  Pulling out a small velvet pouch, he opened the closure and emptied the contents into her hand.   “Ellie,” he murmured near her ear, “I want to tell you something.”

She looked up at him, confusion clouding her eyes for a moment.  “What?” she asked softly.  

He saw the exact moment she noticed.  Cool, metallic, the pair of rings that escaped the pouch settled onto her hand.  Made from silverite and designed with an intricate pattern of leaves and vines that ran its way around the circumference of each; the pattern was one that never began and never ended.  

Bryce lifted one of the rings, the smaller of the two and meant for her hand.  Taking it, he turned so she could see the design more closely.  Each leaf displayed the veins and blades that composed it.  Inside the tiny circlet was an engraving.   _Bryce & Eleanor  Forever united._  

Her eyes widened in shock, searching the ring then darting back up to look at him.  “Bryce?”

He moved quickly, realizing that it wouldn’t be often he had her at a loss for words as he did now.  Taking the ring, he slid it down her finger until it settled into position.  Lifting the other, he placed it between her long, slender fingers.  When she finally realized what he was about, he smiled and gave her his own hand.  She still seemed in a daze as she echoed his previous movements.  Then, he kissed her lightly and murmured, “I know that I don’t tell you often enough, or have been showing you as I should, but I do love you, Eleanor Muir, and I would marry you every day between now and the day we die if it would ease your mind.”

Eleanor’s hand rose, the one displaying her new ring, to cover her mouth.  “Bryce, I don’t need adornments like this!” she told him.  “All I need ….”

Gently, he nudged her chin a little higher so he could look directly into her eyes.  “Yes?”

“All I need is you ….”

Smiling, he rested his forehead against hers.  “Ellie, you will have me until the day the Maker takes us from each other.  Even then, I am not sure he would dare separate us!”

She smiled through tears, but she accepted the kiss he gave her.  “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

 

~ n ~

 

Eleanor dressed in her new battle gear, specially made by an armorer in the town of Highever for her gradually increasing girth, and armed herself with her bow and daggers.  She then glanced around the room she and Bryce shared one last time, making sure she had all that she wanted.  Satisfied with all else, she exited the rooms and headed out to the courtyard where she found the cart that Bryce insisted she would ride in.  He glanced down at her from his position loading the vehicle.   “Are you ready?”

She nodded and turned toward the cart, allowing him to assist her up into the seat.  She was spending the trip with one or another of the guards driving the cart, while Nan would be riding her mount, Griffon.  Eleanor had asked Bryce to take her own mount, as she was unable to ride him, knowing that all things considered, it would be safer to have Titan with them, even with a different rider, than to leave him alone in the stables here at Highever.  As Eleanor had explained, Griffon and Titan were inseparable.  The one time they had been apart, Titan had kicked down his stall and run after his mate.  

As soon as she was settled, Eleanor looked over to find Nan approaching her.  She handed Eleanor a sack that, from the smell of it, contained fresh bread and jerked meat.  “That should last you the day,” Nan teased, tossing a second, lighter sack to the guard.

Eleanor laughed.  Of late, she’d been craving food at odd times during the day.  This journey would, no doubt, test her along the way.  Apparently, Nan had thought of a way to try and help with that.  Nan moved on then, and Bryce reappeared, this time atop Titan.  Silently, Eleanor watched as he settled into his saddle, adjusted the cinches as necessary and spoke quietly to the animal.  Within moments, they were moving smoothly as he approached the cart.  With a smile, Eleanor murmured, “You look as if you have been riding him for years, my lord!”

Bryce blushed slightly.  She occasionally would tease him by using his title, knowing he was still getting used to it.  “Are you ready to head out?” he asked.

Eleanor nodded.  “As I ever will be.”

A moment later, Bryce called for the troops to begin their march out through the gates of the castle and eventually the town beyond.  The journey to the final battle and, hopefully, a free Ferelden was underway.

 

~ n ~

 

Their journey took a little over a week, but progressed easily and without incident.  Arriving in Denerim, they met up with Maric’s army just inside of the city gates.  Bryce left his men to make camp, Nan assisting with the establishment of the Teyrn and Teyrna’s tent, and he and Eleanor went in search of the king.  A short while later, they were brought into an audience with him, Loghain and the queen.

“Bryce!” Maric exclaimed, glancing up as the couple entered the pavilion.  “Glad to see you could make it!”

Bryce grinned.  “I wouldn’t miss it, Maric,” he told him.  He almost chuckled when the king’s smile widened even more at Bryce’s use of his name instead of title.  “We’ve fought too long and hard not to see this through to the end.”

Maric nodded, gesturing both into the room.  He walked over and greeted Eleanor, lifting her hand to his lips.  “Eleanor, I am pleased you could join us,” he told her.  “Or perhaps I should say, the both of you could join us?”

Eleanor blushed.  “Thank you,” she replied.  Walking further into the room, Eleanor caught Loghain’s gaze and nodded a greeting.  The man’s smirk was his usual, and all she would get from him, but it was an acknowledgment.   Turning to the queen, Eleanor found the woman smiling at her.  She too was dressed in armor, her weapons ready at her side.  

Maric gestured towards the map laid out upon the table in front of them.  “This is the current situation,” he explained.  “Meghren and his few remaining supporters are holed up in the palace at the moment, though I expect he will make a run for it at any time.”  He pointed towards the dock area.  “I would imagine he has a ship waiting somewhere, but our reconnaissance ability is somewhat limited now that we have him cornered.”  Maric gestured Loghain forward at this point.  “Why don’t you explain your plan,” the king suggested.

For the next half hour, Loghain did just that. He identified where the worst concentrations of enemy troops were located, possible paths of retreat, and locations of their forces for attack.  “Our intention is to force him into Fort Drakon, to put him under siege and wait for his surrender,” Loghain finished, “unless we can capture or kill him first.”

Bryce nodded, examining the map closely.  It was easy to identify where each of the forces already arrived were to be placed and he found an area that appeared to be waiting for his.  “Right.  We will position ourselves here,” he indicated a point on the map, “in the morning.  From there we can move through here,” another point, “and here.  How long are you planning for this campaign to take?”

Loghain gave a long, hard look at his king before responding, “We are facing tactics that our men are unused to,” he explained.  At the questioning look, he clarified, “Most of our fighting will have to be done street to street, house to house.  I’m sure we can expect some help from the local residents … Maker knows they will be glad to see the Orlesian bastards gone.  However, as it stands now, the only area we have cleared is here, through the Market District,” he pointed to the majority of the northern side of the city.  “Almost everything north of the river is cleared out.  Our next major task is to secure the bridges.  Whatever happens, we cannot let them escape.”

Bryce sighed.  “We’re looking at weeks then,” he stated.

“Possibly longer, but yes.”

Bryce glanced at his wife, noted her smile of encouragement, and then turned towards his king and queen.  “We’d best get started then, hadn’t we?”

Maric grinned back at his friend.  “Better words were never spoken, my friend.”

 

~ n ~

 

Days dragged on into weeks as expected.  The first week alone, Bryce was cautious and kept a large part of his forces back as much as possible.  His main focus relied upon his specialized rogues who would sneak across the bridges, scouting out the situation on the other side and connecting up with rebel supporters.  During the second week, the actual fighting began.  While Bryce was away with his men, Eleanor spent her days with the injured Highever troops, assisting the healing mages Maric had assigned them and doing whatever she could to keep busy.   

As the weeks wore on, however, Eleanor found it more and more difficult to keep her promise to Bryce and to remain out of the fighting.  She had no desire to go back on her word to him, but the lack of specific duties problematic, and he knew good and well she would not just sit around.  When she wasn’t occupied, she worried, and when she worried, she found ways to take action.

Relief came the third week of the campaign in, of all things, the necessity for reprovisioning.  Finding Nan one morning, she said, “I’m going to the brewery today.  We are running low on ale and I heard of one that should still be operating.  It isn’t too far from here either.”

Nan nodded.  “Let me get my things and I will go with you.”

Eleanor sighed before nodding reluctantly.  It was for her own safety, she supposed, but she still did not like the idea of having to rely on Nan for her protection.  Still, Nan wasn’t putting up any argument of her leaving the camp, so she wasn’t going to argue.  She dressed in normal clothing which did nothing to protect her from any weapons, but did make her pregnant form look a bit more … normal.  

They were soon on their way, chatting with each other while Eleanor occasionally glanced at the directions she’d been given.  In reality, it was a crudely drawn map with a few numbers on it.  She and Nan wove their way through the streets, made a few turns, walked a number of blocks, and after some time, Eleanor felt Nan’s worried gaze upon her.  “Nan, give it a rest!” she told her friend.  “It’s not like a little bit of exercise will hurt the babe!  I told you, the last time I was carrying I was trekking through the Frostbacks!”

“Well you aren’t in the Frostbacks this time, are you then?” Nan retorted.

Eleanor rolled her eyes and increased her pace, whether in an effort to prove to Nan or herself that she was fine, she didn’t know.  When they rounded the next corner, Eleanor noted that they were now traversing buildings along the riverbank.  “We must be close,” she said to Nan, pointing to the Drakon River below.

“What is the name of this place again?”

“ _Aylesleigh’s Ales_ ,” Eleanor told her.  “Supposedly they have a sign out front ….”

“There,” Nan said, pointing to a rather large building half a block ahead of them.  She lifted her head and sniffed the air around them in exaggerated fashion.  “Can’t you smell them?”

Eleanor laughed but said nothing.  Tucking the slip of paper into a pocket, she led Nan inside.  There was an office off to the left side, but it was empty when Eleanor took a peek.  She supposed that whoever she was looking for would be out on the main floor.  Stepping further into the building, she began calling out, “Hello?”  This she repeated a few times until she spotted a man about her age walking in her direction.  His smile was genuine and broad, his eyes dark and his hair, a deep auburn, was plastered to his face.  Obviously, this was a man who worked in the brewery itself.  He was also wearing an apron that had seen better days.  

“Good morning, ladies, and welcome to _Aylesleigh’s Ales_.  How may I serve?”

Eleanor couldn’t help but smile at his pleasant nature.  With everything going on in the city around them, to find someone carrying on as if nothing untoward was happening was a bit out of the ordinary.  “I have come on behalf of Teyrn Cousland to arrange additional supplies of ale for his men,” she explained.

The man nodded.  “Of course, of course,” he told them.  He gestured them back in the direction of the front of the building, into the office area where they could sit.  “I apologize for the lack of organization you find us in today,” he explained.  “Given all the recent … activity within the city, we are short staffed and Mr. Aylesleigh himself has been … recruited into the ranks of the king’s service.”

Wisely, Eleanor did not ask which king.  She stuck with business, explaining the needs of the Teyrn.  Once concluded, she sat back for a moment and regarded the man in front of her.  “You mentioned that Master Aylesleigh was now in service to the king,” she began, “does that mean you are in charge of the brewery now?”

He smiled.  “Only for so long as he is away, I suppose.  I’m simply a journeyman brewer.  I hope someday to own my own place, but more of a tavern than a brewery I think.”  With a sudden thought, he added, “The name is Cyril, by the way.  Pardon my manners.  Aside from the brewery to keep running, I’ve other issues of a more personal nature on my mind.”

“Is there something I can help with?” Eleanor found herself asking.   _I must be desperate for something to do if I am offering to help him with his love life!_ she thought.

Cyril smiled sadly.  “I wish it were that simple, my lady.  Unfortunately, I fear it is not.”

Eleanor gave him a sympathetic look.  “As you can tell by my condition,” she said while placing a hand at her waist, “I am not a soldier in the current battles.  I have plenty of time on my hands in which I might be able to assist.”

Cyril smiled, a brief glimpse of hope in his dark eyes.  “I … my girl is employed by one of the noble ladies from King Meghren’s court,” he began.  When he saw her look darken, he added quickly, “No, no … she is Ferelden.  At least, she was born here.  Her parents were Orlesian, but she was born and raised here and her loyalty is here.”

Eleanor nodded.  “Continue,” she told him.

“We are promised to each other, and until the invasion of the city, we were together, her lady allowing me to stay in return for a daily supply of ale, assistance on her estate, the usual.”  Cyril actually blushed a bit.  “She may be an Orlesian,” he added gently, “but she loves the Ferelden ale!”

Nan actually chuckled at this.  Eleanor side-glanced her friend but otherwise said nothing.

“However, since King Maric’s forces moved in and took over this side of the river, I have been unable to get home to them.  I have no way of communicating with them, to let them know I am safe or even to know if they are safe.”

Eleanor nodded in understanding.  “I can make you no promises,” she told him softly, “but if you would give me the directions to their home, I will try.”

Cyril’s worried expression eased somewhat at her words.  He found a blank piece of parchment and drew out a map for her, labeling their current location, the bridges near the main gate and the location of the estate on the southern side of the river.  “The estate belongs to Lady Cecile.  Amélie is my ….”  Cyril’s voice trailed off as he noticed Eleanor freeze.  “My lady, are you ill?” he asked suddenly, rising to his feet to rush to her side.

Eleanor shook her head.  “No,” she reassured him, “I am not ill … just a bit … stunned!  Amélie is your lady?  Amélie who is cousin to Marianne Desmarais?”

Now it was Cyril’s turn to be surprised.  “You know Marianne?” he breathed, kneeling beside her.  Vaguely, he saw the other woman give him a hard look, but he was too winded by Eleanor’s words to worry.

Eleanor reached out to touch Cyril’s hand.  “Marianne and I became good friends,” she assured him quickly, then added more reluctantly, “before she was killed.”

Cyril groaned.  Shaking his head, he glanced down at the floor.  “I was afraid of that.  For a time after she and Simon left we occasionally received word from them or about them, but it had been so long ….”  He rose then to his feet and returned behind the desk.  “It was bad enough when we heard what happened to Simon.  But you say Marianne is gone, too?  Amélie will take this very hard,” he murmured.

Eleanor smiled in understanding.  “One of my goals during my time here was to find Amélie.  Marianne asked me to deliver a message to her, her dying wish if you will.”

Cyril nodded.  “Amélie and Marianne were very close,” he explained.  “This will be devastating for her.”  Taking a deep breath, he looked back at Eleanor and gave her a tentative smile.  “My lady, I appreciate that you would be willing to try to find my Amélie.  I know many of the Orlesian nobles are fleeing the city, and I do not want her thinking I have abandoned her to her fate.”

Eleanor rose then, a smile upon her lips.  “If I should find her, I will let her know that she is to stay … at all costs.”

Cyril smiled.  “Thank you, my lady.  Maker guide your path.”

Eleanor was silent as she and Nan walked back to the camp.  Nan continuously tried to engage her in conversation, but she was busy thinking of how she might be able to find Amélie and Lady Cecile.  When they reached the camp, Eleanor delivered the news and arrangements for the ale to the quartermaster in charge of feeding the troops before heading back to the tent she shared with Bryce.  She had some planning to do, and her best chance of the peace and quiet she needed for that was on her own.

  
  
  
  
  
  



	31. Death of a Tyrant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just two more chapters to go!

 

When Bryce found his wife that evening, she was in their tent asleep.  It was late, but he always tried to make it back to the camp if only to reassure her that he was safe.  Entering the pavilion, he found her resting on a cot, half asleep.  He changed out of his armor and into something more comfortable before approaching her.  “Ellie?” he whispered, reaching out to brush loose strands of her ebony waves away from her face.

“Mmmmm?” she mumbled, stretching like a contented cat.

Bryce chuckled.  “Eleanor, it’s me,” his voice slightly louder.

Eleanor’s eyes popped open and she bolted upright suddenly, banging her forehead into his chin.  “Ow!” she cried, smacking a hand to the injured area.  “Oh!  Bryce!”

A hand to his chin analyzing his own injury, Bryce gave her a small smile.  “Woman, you have a hard head!”  Her laugh was a testament to their strengthening relationship that she could do so readily now when before she might have been more concerned that he would be upset with her.  

“So I’ve been told,” she returned.

Bryce reached out to grasp her chin, turning her so he could give her a hearty kiss.  “I can stay only a short time, my love,” he told her.  “We are very close to having control of the palace and the Arl of Denerim’s estates.”

“Is it working then?” she asked, shifting to face him.  “Is Meghren withdrawing to Fort Drakon?”

Bryce nodded.  “Loghain, Maric and the bulk of the army have crossed the eastern bridges, cutting off his access to the docks.  They are allowing some of the nobles and others through, those who have passage on ships out to Orlais, but the Usurper cannot pass.  My sources are trailing his every move and just a short while ago we had a message that he’s making for the prison.”

“Thank the Maker!”  She reached a hand out that he took, assisting her carefully to her feet.  Once upright, she gave him an appraising look.  Patiently, Bryce waited.  She would, no doubt, notice the new cuts, scratches and other minor injuries he now sported from the battle, but beyond that, he was no worse for wear.  “When do you go back?” she asked after a moment.

Bryce pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her.  “Too soon,” he admitted, murmuring near her ear, “but not before I get to spend some quality time with my wife and child.”

He heard her groan.  “Quality time, eh?”

Smile widening, he lifted her into his arms and carried her over to the double sized cot they usually shared.  “Oh, yes,” he told her as he lay down beside her.  

Settling down onto the cot with her, he moved his hands around her waist, rolling her towards him.  “Hmmmm,” she breathed near his ear as he kissed along her neck, “I think I like the sound of that ….”

 

~ n ~

 

The next she opened her eyes, Eleanor found her husband donning his familiar heavy chainmail, the Highever crest embossed in the chestplate.  Smiling up at him, she lay watching, enjoying the view as he buckled the straps into place with practiced ease.  It was impossible to miss how dashing a figure he was in his armor.  Before adding his sword, shield and helm, he turned to face her and grinned.  “Like what you see?”

Eleanor chuckled, successfully banishing the blush that would have usually crept up her neck.  “Very much, my husband,” she replied.  He paused a moment, frowning.  “Bryce?  What is it?”

Bryce walked over and assisted her to her feet.  Eleanor pulled the blanket with her, wrapping it around her body to keep the chill away.  Bryce cupped her chin, lifting it so their eyes could meet, saying, “You called me husband.  I think I like the way the word rolls off your tongue ….”

Eleanor did blush this time, dipping her head.  “I-I’m sorry I don’t say it more often ….”

Bryce’s hands grasped her shoulders gently.  “Nonsense,” he assured her.  “It’s just something we need to get used to is all.”  Turning then, he reached for his helm and arms.  “We are moving camp to the south side of the river today,” he informed her.  “If you and Nan would oversee the transfer ….”

Eleanor smiled and stepped forward to kiss him.  “Of course,” she replied.

Bryce held her close for a long moment.  “Be careful, my love,” he told her.  “We have cleared things, yes, but there is always the chance of a hidden Orlesian supporter somewhere.”

Eleanor rested her head against his shoulder, squeezing him tight.  “You will be more of a target than I,” she told him, “but I will wear the armor, just to keep your mind at ease.”

Bryce chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “It would do that.”  Straightening, he released her and said, “Right.  I’ve got to go.  I will see you tonight I hope.  If not, I will send word.”

Eleanor smiled for his benefit, but she was surprised at the momentary sense of panic she felt at the thought.  Shortly after he left, she turned towards her dressing area and prepared for the day.

 

~ n ~

 

Nan arrived with breakfast a short time later, carrying in the tray of various fruits, cereals, cheeses and breads.  Eleanor shook her head, knowing that the men were not eating this well, but Nan and Bryce had both agreed that as an expectant mother, she needed things that the men did not.

While nibbling on bits of food, Eleanor asked, “When do we strike camp, do you know?”

Nan nodded.  “As soon as we are finished here,” she said, then placed a hand on Eleanor’s shoulder when she would have risen, “and I do mean finished.”

Eleanor sighed and sat back to finish her meal.  If she fought Nan on it, the woman would be her shadow all damned day.  If Eleanor pretended to cede to her wishes, she might have a chance to break away in the confusion of the move.

Unfortunately for Eleanor, the move was conducted without too much confusion, thus she never had the opportunity to lose her shadow, as she referred to Nan these days.  It took the better part of the day, but they crossed the newly taken territory and re-established the camp before the afternoon was out.  A messenger arrived in early evening, telling Eleanor that the Teyrn would not be returning to camp, but that he was well, and would soon be joining forces with King Maric and Loghain.  Satisfied that she had received all the information she could, Eleanor dismissed him to the mess tent where he could catch a meal before returning to Bryce’s side.

The next two days were a blur for Eleanor as she watched both the local Orlesian nobles fleeing the city, carrying with them what they could, and Arl Bryland’s and Rendon Howe’s men begin to enter the fray.  Now that they had crossed the river and were closing in on the Usurper, everyone was needed.

Eleanor stepped outside of her tent several days after the move to find a flurry of activity going on about her.  Stopping one soldier, she asked, “What is all the commotion?”

“The queen!” he gasped.  “Queen Rowan is coming to visit you, my lady!”

Eleanor gasped.  This she had not expected.  Rowan, Eleanor knew, was an accomplished soldier in her own right.  Eleanor had fully expected the woman to be with Maric in their assault on the city and later on Fort Drakon.  But to visit the Teyrn’s camp when he was not there?

“I see you have been forewarned?”

Eleanor was startled by the familiar voice that appeared behind her.  Spinning around, she gasped as she spied the queen dressed in full battle gear, “You-your Majesty!”

Rowan quickly grasped Eleanor by the wrist.  “No formalities, my friend,” she insisted.  “Maric holds your husband in the deepest regard, as do I, and therefore you.”

Eleanor could only nod, swallowing past a lump in her throat.

“Now then, I only wanted to stop by to see how you fared.  I remember all too well the latter stages of carrying Cailan and I wanted to assure myself that your needs are being met.”

Eleanor couldn’t help the snort that overcame her.  “My apologies your –“ she saw the woman frown, “Rowan.  My husband thinks I need a keeper and refuses to allow me near the fighting.  In that sense, then I suppose I am faring … well?  I am safe at any rate.”

Rowan laughed.  “Yes, I can see that,” she teased.  “Have they informed you yet?  The Usurper is barricaded inside Fort Drakon as Loghain predicted.”

“No!”  Eleanor shouldn’t have been surprised by this, but a part of her was.  “I had not heard.”

Rowan smiled.  “Yes, I suppose your husband is rather busy at the moment.  Meghren has been holed up in there for the past five or six days.  He’s chosen a siege, as Maric had hoped, and while he cowers there, his friends and supporters flee the city.”  Glancing over at the other woman, Rowan announced, “I am headed to Fort Drakon myself, actually.  Would you like me to deliver a message to your husband for you?”

A flurry of things rushed through her mind at that moment, but she simply replied, “I thank you for your kindness, Rowan, but simply tell him I wish him luck and pray that the Maker keeps him safe.”

Rowan smiled.  “No better message can I think of,” she replied quietly.  Again she reached out, this time squeezing Eleanor’s arm affectionately.  “Now, then,” the woman continued with a conspiratorial wink, “shall we get you into your armor and head on up towards the action?”

Eleanor was startled for a moment, but realized that this was the opportunity she had been waiting for.  Returning the smile and the gesture to her queen, Eleanor murmured, “Your wish is my command, _your Majesty_.”  Both women laughed at that until they had tears running down their cheeks.  After a moment longer, she called, “Nan?  Get my armor.  We are headed into battle.  We’ve been conscripted by the queen!”

 

~ n ~

 

Eleanor walked beside the queen as they marched along the road leading towards the prison.  Fort Drakon itself was built into the side of a mountain, and the road gradually climbed to the point of entry.  Rowan had signaled the main body of her forces on ahead, so that she might walk with Eleanor who at both the queen’s and Nan’s insistence, took it easy.  They were too close to the end now to risk losing the child.

As they passed the various housing areas, side streets and alleyways, Eleanor watched in detached fascination at the sheer number of people trying to flee even at this late date.  Though none of Maric’s troops made threatening gestures or intimations, the people who saw them would cry out, mostly in Orlesian, and begin running in the direction of the docks.

It was as they were beginning the first southward turn on the road that Eleanor heard a heavily accented Orlesian voice saying, “Dépêches-toi, Amélie!  Nous ne voulons pas manqué le bateau!”   _[Hurry up, Amélie!  We don’t want to miss the boat!]_

Eleanor froze in her movements so suddenly, she had both Rowan and Nan turning to look at her with concern.  Glancing at Nan, Eleanor grasped her friends wrist and whispered, “Did you hear that?”

“Ellie, what -?”

Then another, lighter voice called out above the din.  “Je suis ici, Dame Cecile!  Je viens!”   _[I am here, Lady Cecilie!  I’m coming!]_

Turning, Eleanor began to head off after the voices.  Nan grasped her arm quickly.  “El, no!  You can’t!”  Nan turned towards the queen and explained the situation.

During her friend’s distraction, Eleanor was able to break free and began moving as quickly as she could after the women.  She trailed after them for a quarter of an hour at least, occasionally hearing pieces of conversation floating across the breeze.  Behind her, she could hear Nan trying to catch up with her, calling her name.  Eleanor knew she was running out of time.  

Rounding yet another corner, she heard the voices again.  Stopping, she raised her voice above the din and shouted, “Amélie!”

In the distance, Eleanor saw a young woman stop and turn, a questioning look on her face.  For just a moment, their gazes caught … and locked.  Taking a chance, she shouted, “Amélie, attendez!  Cyril est sûr!  S’il vous plait ne laissez pas!”   _[Amélie, wait!  Cyril is safe!  Please don’t leave!]_

Eleanor could see the girl struggle with the choice.  As she turned, looking after Lady Cecile’s retreating figure, Eleanor then noticed that she was pregnant.  “Amélie, non!  Restez ici!”   _[Amélie, no!  Stay here!]_  Eleanor started heading in the woman’s direction, but saw that the Lady Cecile was speaking to Amélie softly.  Marianne’s cousin gave Eleanor a sad look before turning and hurrying off with the Orlesian noble.

Eleanor felt despair, felt as if she was letting down Cyril and Amélie as well as Marianne.  Nan caught up with her then, sliding an arm around Eleanor’s shoulders as the Teyrna began sobbing.  “Oh, Nan,” she gasped, “I’ve failed them all!”

“Nonsense!” Nan told her, turning and leading her back in the direction they had come.  “Now come along … we can’t leave the queen waiting, can we?”

Eleanor realized then just what she had done.  “Oh, Maker’s Breath!” she gasped, her eyes darting to her friend’s.

Nan chuckled.  “Don’t worry yourself,” she assured Eleanor.  “Our Queen Rowan is a very understanding woman.”

They found the queen with some of her private guards waiting for them near the bend in the road.  When Rowan spied them, she moved forward quickly, grasping Eleanor’s shoulders in her capable hands.  “Are you quite alright?” she asked.  “Nan told me why you left, but you look as if you are ill….”

Eleanor shook her head.  After a moment, she managed, “I-I am so sorry, Rowan, to have abused our relationship in such a way!  I -!”

Rowan shook her head firmly.  “Nonsense.  You had a mission to accomplish and you tried to do so.  Am I to assume by your crestfallen look that you did not succeed?”

Eleanor shook her head.  “I did not.”

Rowan sighed.  “Such a shame,” she sympathized.  Straightening, she added, “We must hurry, however, if we are to be there at the end.  I have had some news since you left; news that requires us to move quickly now.  Are you able?”

Eleanor could not contain her worry, but Rowan gave her shoulders one more quick squeeze before releasing her.  “Not for Bryce, my dear,” she hurriedly assured her.  She began the explanation as she, Eleanor, Nan and the others continued their climb.

 

~ n ~

 

To say that Eleanor was in shock at the turn of events was an understatement.  The women burst onto the roof of Fort Drakon just as Maric and Meghren were positioning themselves for a duel.  Rowan led the others around until they stood beside Bryce and Loghain.  Both men appeared agitated, and Eleanor could well imagine why.  Rowan herself had cursed her husband more than once as they climbed through the Fort, mostly for his naïve sense of fair play.  But, as Eleanor had pointed out, Meghren was an egotistical maniac who was not capable of believing that he could lose.  Not knowing his own weakness, Eleanor had continued, would be his downfall.  After her comments, Rowan had given the Teyrna a glowing look of respect, and then hustled their pace once more.

Eleanor swallowed hard as she saw Bryce glance her way.  His focus was on his king, or at least it should have been, but he gestured her forwards to stand beside him.  She glanced around and saw many familiar faces: Arls Bryland, Howe and other she did not recognize, some of the Banns familiar to Eleanor through her father’s connections, and many of the troops from Maric’s forces.  There were over a hundred, perhaps as many as two, all surrounding the claimants to the throne who were now squaring off for a final duel.  

Maric stood straight and tall, his sword and shield at the ready.  He had been fighting for years, ever since his mother’s murder, to take his rightful place on the throne of Ferelden.  Meghren, slightly taller than Maric and a good ten years older, presented an imposing figure as well.  It was well known by those who were friend and foe alike that Meghren’s only real experience with weaponry came at the hands of the chevaliers who trained him: men loyal to both king and emperor, but who also knew better than to endanger their sovereign’s life by teaching him anything other than tournament style combat.  

Both men began moving, circling each other, shifting positions as the other did, trying to feel out for any advantage.  This continued for several minutes until Meghren, in his conceit and impatience, struck first.  He launched his attack with a swipe of his shield in Maric’s direction, followed by an overhand arcing slice with his sword.  To those surrounding them, and Maric himself, the move was not nearly as dangerous as it looked.  Simply some smoke and mirrors tactics mostly seen in tournament play.  Maric easily blocked the onslaught with his shield, brushing both Meghren’s shield and sword up and away, exposing his now unprotected belly and thrusting his longsword into Meghren’s comfort zone.  

For his part, Meghren seemed taken aback first by how easily his attack had been blocked, and second by the ease with which Maric was able to expose a weakness.

The battle continued on, the soldiers and nobles standing witness to the exchange.  Eleanor leaned into Bryce’s embrace, trying to calm herself, though she was worried for Maric.  At one point, she snuck a glance over at Rowan who winced when Meghren landed one of his few decently made blows on Maric’s shoulder.  Turning back, Eleanor saw that Moira’s son continued to fight on.  It was clear he was the stronger, better trained, battle hardened warrior to Meghren’s soft, spoiled and hesitant tournament-style technique.

Eleanor began to wonder how long the battle was going to last when she saw Meghren, greatly tired from his exertions, not only miss his strike against Maric but lost his balance and began falling forward.  Maric avoided the blow and spun to his right, swinging around with his shield to knock the Usurper completely off balance and to the ground.  When Meghren rose to his feet, he was unprepared for the continued attack and never saw nor felt the blow as Maric’s sword, its blue glint from the runestones embedded in it arced and sliced through the Usurper’s neck, severing the head of the snake once and for all.  

For a long, long moment, nothing could be heard but the ragged sounds of Maric’s heavy breaths as he struggled to regain his composure.  Then, as Rowan stepped out onto the battle ring and walked over towards her husband, lending him her arm and support, the cheering began.  The cacophony of voices roaring in approval, in achievement, in _victory_ began to spread out in waves, as if a pebble had been dropped in the center of Lake Calenhad and the ripples fanned out to the shore.

Eleanor glanced up at Bryce, feeling … overwhelmed.  “It’s … over?” she asked.

Bryce hugged her close.  “No, my love,” he murmured near her ear so she could hear him, “it’s just beginning.”

 


	32. Blessings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go!

 

The return to Highever from Denerim was slow out of necessity.  Bryce and Nan harangued Eleanor once again until she reluctantly agreed to ride in the cart, much against her better judgment.  Despite being almost full term with her pregnancy, she felt good and wanted to walk.  It wasn’t simply euphoria because Orlesian rule was now over and Maric ruled Ferelden, but she wanted to be ready in case of attack.   _Old habits die hard_ , she told herself when they were well into the fourth day of their trip.  She could admit, if only to herself so she wouldn’t worry Bryce, their previous experience with Iain was the driving force behind her decision.  In the end, she agreed to split the travel time between walking and riding, but at her own discretion.  Surprisingly, Bryce agreed.

Before their departure, with the fall of the Usurper and the rise of the rightful king, a million and one things needed to happen.  Maric was crowned king and Rowan his queen by the Grand Cleric and full backing of the Chantry.  After that there was the business of re-establishing a government under Ferelden rule, something which hadn’t been around for almost a hundred years.  At the same time, Maric sought out Bryce to discuss an appropriate reward for his friend, Loghain.  After lengthy discussion and consultation with Arls Bryland, Howe and several others, it was finally agreed that Eleanor’s cousin the Teyrnir of Gwaren was suitable.  And finally, both Eleanor and Bryce visited with Cyril at the brewery, explaining the circumstances of the departure of his Amélie.  While not the hoped outcome, Cyril offered his thanks, and the foundations of a friendship were established.  Only the test of time would truly determine how it would play out.

So finally, after much work and even more celebrating, and a wife whose pregnancy was advanced to the point of his worrying she would delivery before they returned home, Bryce begged his leave of the king.  He promised to return, for the Landsmeet, for friendship, for whenever duty called, but he wanted to be at his home when his child was born this time.  He was not going to take any unnecessary chances with this child, not after what had happened to little Iain.  So it was with great reluctance that the king granted the Teyrn of Highever his permission to leave for home.

It took almost two weeks to get there, and they were restricted to the Imperial Highway instead of their usual northern route, but it was functional and they made better time than Bryce expected they would.  He traveled at the head of the column most of the time, determined to protect his wife at any and all costs should they be attacked.  Nan traveled on Griffon, the beautiful grey, and remained constantly at Eleanor’s side whether she walked or rode.  The two friends had become nigh inseparable since Nan’s return, and Bryce was wise enough to accept the arrangement unquestioningly.  

Their arrival home came late in the afternoon, and this time Seneschal Dacen was alerted by a messenger Bryce sent ahead.  When the caravan entered the courtyard, the seneschal had the staff and defense forces waiting for them in the courtyard.  Bryce chuckled to himself.  It was obvious Dacen was trying to make up for the lack of pomp and circumstance when he and Eleanor had simply walked into the keep after their return from Ostagar.  He sighed heavily, for he was tired and knew Eleanor must be exhausted.  Still, he assisted his wife down from the cart and escorted her through the review on their way inside.  

At one point, he realized he must have made some kind of impatient sound, because Eleanor gave him a look of tolerant amusement.  Smiling sheepishly back at her, he grinned and they continued inside.  It was a short time later, and after a glimpse of Nan speaking fiercely with Dacen, that the impromptu review was ended and Eleanor escorted off to a location where she could relax.

 

~ n ~

 

They managed to get back into the routine of the castle within the week, and Eleanor, despite the mutterings of her friend, was quick to establish her rule of the household once more.  She found it amusing that Bryce would find reasons, real or fabricated, to be with her almost constantly.  Some people might consider it hovering, especially when Nan did much the same thing, but Eleanor didn’t.  At least, not until Bryce and Nan began bickering between themselves over who would do what for her.  At that point, Eleanor began to understand what a prized bone being fought over by a pack of mabari hounds must feel like.

They were in the main hall, Eleanor supervising the changing of the portraits of the Teyrn and Teyrna from those of Malcolm and Theresia Cousland to Bryce and herself, when she finally decided it had to come to an end.

Bryce for his part, had no concern one way or another that the portraits were being changed.  They made a statement, he supposed, for any visitors so he agreed to the change without argument.  But when it came to the actual direction of the servants during the process, he was determined to have a say.  That nearly drove his lady wife mad.  Seeing this, Nan stepped in, and for the first of what Eleanor assumed would be many, many times, she witnessed Nan and her husband going head to head in an argument.  Eleanor indulged herself in a moment’s amusement, before deciding it was time she assert her position in the relationship between them.  “Enough!” she bellowed from her place in the center of the hall.

Both Bryce and Nan were startled enough to cease their argumentative ways, at least momentarily, at the sound of Eleanor’s voice.  Turning to stare at her, they were unprepared for what came next.

“I am no wallflower, nor an invalid.  I am perfectly capable whether pregnant or no of taking care of whatever business needs to be taken care of!  Now get!  The both of you!”

Bryce held in his amused chuckle and watched as Nan muttered to herself before walking over to her friend, murmuring something he couldn’t hear.  Eleanor, still a bit flushed by her anger and her outburst, seemed fine otherwise.  She turned, her eyes meeting his as Nan continued to try and placate her.  It was then Bryce saw the spark in her eye.  Smiling, he thought that if his child had half the spunk his wife had, he was going to be in trouble indeed!

 

~ n ~

 

Bryce entered their room quietly, so he hoped, and readied himself for bed in the dark.  He slipped beneath the covers next to his wife who, he had noted earlier that evening, had barely been able to eat.  Her near constant state of exhaustion worried him, but he recalled she’d been that way with Iain, too, and so he forced himself not to fuss.  Now, reaching out to wrap his arm around her as he settled in for the night, he was surprised to feel her hand slide on top of his.  “Ellie?” he whispered near her ear.  “Is everything alright?”

She squeezed his hand tightly, reassuringly.  “I’m just glad you are here,” she murmured.  

“Where else would I be?” he countered.  His arm tightened around her, holding her body as close to him as possible while he thanked the Maker yet again for allowing things to work out between them.  There had been a time, shortly after Iain’s death, when he thought he might have lost her for good.  Thanks to good, honest friends and each of them having a stubborn nature, that hadn’t happened, and he would be eternally grateful for that.

As he held her, Bryce lightly ran his hand over her belly, feeling the child move.  He could not remember how this compared to the same point in her pregnancy with Iain, but unlike last time, he had made sure Eleanor was receiving the food and attention she needed.  Was this child larger than Iain?  Was it smaller?  Was it healthy?  Was there anything else he should be doing that he hadn’t done yet?

He must have made some noise or movement, because Eleanor struggled to roll onto her back and look up at him.  Her eyes opened he spotted the shining green depths gazing up at him.  She reached a hand up, pulling his head towards hers and kissed him soundly, startling him.  “We will be fine, Bryce,” she assured him.  “Your son –”

“Son?” he breathed.  “Can you be so certain?”

Eleanor chuckled.  “It feels like last time, so I think of it as a boy,” she admitted, if a bit shyly.  “If it is a girl, well, we will both be surprised!”

Bryce grinned.  “If it is a girl, I’m sure she will be blessed with her mother’s temper and daring!”

Eleanor smiled.  “That remains to be seen.  The point I was making, however, is that the baby is fine.   _I_ am fine.  We all need to rest, however, because we both know that with each passing day the little one’s arrival draws closer and we most certainly won’t get rest then.”

Sighing, Bryce settled back beside her.  Their eyes locked and he watched as she faded off to sleep once more.  Only then, assured she was indeed asleep, did he follow.

 

~ n ~

 

As with Iain, Bryce was in attendance when Eleanor went into labor.  He sat beside her reclined body, murmuring words he sincerely hoped helped her to feel better.  Unlike the last time, there were several women present who knew what they were doing.  That left him able to focus solely on her.  When Nan and the other women protested his presence, Eleanor insisted he remain.  

She squeezed his hand now, his _sword hand_ he noted, and the pressure surely would break the bones.  Bryce winced.   _Perhaps I would have been better off waiting elsewhere …?_  It wasn’t as if he didn’t have good reason to leave.  If the message he received an hour ago was correct, the king had arrived at the keep.  Bryce could use that as an excuse to beg off in order to see to his sovereign’s needs ….

A glance from his lady wife assured him he wasn’t so subtle as he thought he was being.  “If you so much as _consider_ leaving me right now,” she panted, “after putting me in this position … again ….”  She struggled through another contraction and gasped for air before continuing on a different line of thought.  “Bryce?  Your son … and I are going to … have _words_ after … all this is over!”

Bryce swallowed his laughter, adjusted his hold of her hand.  “Come on, Eleanor,” he told her, “surely if you can defeat Orlesians in battle, you can birth a child no problem!”  He was rewarded with a loud, hard smack on his right arm from Nan who was assisting the healing mage with the delivery.   Even Nan was aiming for his sword arm it seemed.

Eleanor laughed through her tears at both the gesture from Nan fiercely standing up for her when she couldn’t, and the look on Bryce’s face.  This time when she felt the urge to push, she managed to do so with a smile.

 

~ n ~

 

Some hours later, after assurances Eleanor was just fine and simply needed rest to begin the healing process, Bryce left the room in search of his guest.  The difficult part was now over.  As in Denerim and after the defeat of the Usurper, it was now time to celebrate.  

To Bryce’s surprise, however, when he entered the study where Dacen had directed the king, he found not just Maric, but Loghain and Rendon Howe in attendance as well.  The message he received had only mentioned the king’s presence.  

“Well, Bryce,” Maric began, rising to his feet, “I trust Eleanor has succeeded?  All is well with mother and child?”

Exhausted, Bryce smiled, a bit bemused that the man continued to count him among his close friends even after the defeat of the Orlesians let alone take such an interest in his family.  “Yes, your Majesty.”  He entered the room a bit more, and they all became aware of the bundle in the man’s arms.  With a proud smile, Bryce announced, “May I present Fergus Malcolm Cousland of Highever.”

Loud exclamations of delight by the men aimed at the child woke him, causing him to start fussing.  Immediately the door opened, and Nan entered, extricating the infant from his father’s grip before he could protest.  She left the room just as quickly and without a word, closing the door behind her.  Bryce’s gaze trailed after her for a long moment, still focused on his son.   Then, shaking his head in disbelief, he turned back towards the others.  He reached inside his desk and retrieved a corked bottle of Antivan brandy from a lower drawer.  Four glasses soon followed.  Pouring them each a half of a glass, he returned the bottle to its location.

Maric raised his glass.  “To Fergus Malcolm Cousland: may he and his generation find peace in a free Ferelden.”

The others raised their glasses and echoed, “Fergus Cousland and peace!”

 

~ n ~

 

Later that evening, and only slightly tipsy from the alcohol, but definitely exhausted from lack of sleep, Bryce found his way into his bedroom.  He was half afraid he would be chased out by Nan when he arrived, but he entered to find his wife resting alone.  A small cradle had been placed by her side of the bed and Bryce found himself drawn there.  When he glanced down, he found tiny dark eyes staring back up at him, cooing softly as he moved about.  

Without a second thought, Bryce reached down and lifted the tyke into the cradle of his arms.  He walked over near a window and stared out at the snowstorm that currently was roaring past the castle off the Waking Sea.  “There’s a whole new world out there for you, my son,” he murmured softly.  “You have the distinction of being born one of the first generation into a newly freed Ferelden … something no one has seen for a very, very long time, certainly not since your great grandfather’s time, for whom you are named.”

From the bed and woken when Bryce lifted Fergus from his cradle, Eleanor smiled at the sight of father and son together.  A pained pang of memory returned briefly, but was quickly chased away by the present.  She realized, in that moment, this was indeed where she belonged, with Bryce and Fergus and any future children they would have.  Iain might be gone, but there would be others.  A future.  

Moving carefully, Eleanor rose to her feet and padded over to where her two men stood by the window.  She saw concern immediately in Bryce’s eyes, but she shook her head.  Sliding an arm around his waist, she leaned against his arm and stared down at their son.   _We are home,_ she thought.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	33. Epilogue

Fergus stood beside his mother in the study belonging to his father, Teyrn Bryce Cousland.  In front of them and mounted for display lay a set of blades that were all too familiar to him.  From birth, he had grown up hearing the story often enough: Marianne Desmarais, born Orlesian but Ferelden by choice.  She made her decision to assist King Maric in his claim to the throne for a number of reasons, not the least of which was that the Orlesian puppet, Meghren, was a brutal tyrant, unfit to rule.

“She wanted my son to have her blades when he was old enough,” Eleanor explained.

Fergus sighed.  This was a familiar argument between them.  “But, I am no rogue as you are well aware.  I’m trained as a shield warrior.”

Eleanor smiled, wrapping an arm around the her son’s, hugging it affectionately.  “That might be,” she admitted, “and Marianne was most definitely a rogue.  However, don’t think I haven’t seen you sparring with Rory Gilmore, or even your younger sister, attempting to master the dual weapons techniques I showed you when you were but a boy.”

Fergus’ lips curled upwards, a pleasant heat staining his cheeks and he looked away briefly.  “Well,” he reminded her in a voice that held only a hint of awkwardness, “I learned from the best, Mother.”

Eleanor chuckled softly.  It was an infectious sound, and Fergus couldn’t help but join in.  “That you did, my son,” she agreed with a smile, “that you did.”  

Turning to face him, Eleanor lifted a hand, placing it to his cheek.  “Marianne would be pleased to know you inherited the blades, Fergus.  I’ve no doubt she would be more than satisfied knowing such a skilled young warrior will have them to use only when absolutely necessary.”  She lowered her hand and reached over, removing the blades from their mount.  Handing them one at a time to her son, she watched as Fergus took _Tempered Faith_ and _Shadow’s Bite_ in his hands for the first time.  Slowly, carefully, he examined each, getting the feel of the weight in his hands.

“There,” she said, content with the results.  “Those should keep you safe enough, I should think.  Even against the darkspawn.”  Then, turning the conversation, she continued, “Now, I have guests to attend, and your father is in the great hall greeting the Arl of Amaranthine.  This may be your best opportunity to sneak off and say goodbye to your wife and son.”

Fergus, his eyes shifting from the blades to his mother as she spoke, would have missed it if he had not been watching for it: the dark look at the reference to their guest: Rendon Howe. Frowning in concern, he wondered if he should push her for an explanation.  “Mother?”

Eleanor, eyes widening as if startled that he’d caught her, shook her head.  She patted his arm, forcing a smile.  “Don’t mind me, dear.  Go find Oriana and Oren.  I will speak to you again in a little while.”

With one last look, Fergus turned to leave the room.  Standing at the gateway, he glanced back at his mother and murmured, “I will do these justice, I swear that to you!”

Eleanor smiled after her son’s departing figure.  “I know you will, my boy.”  Sighing, she straightened and departed the room.  “Now then,” she muttered softly, “to find Landra and that son of hers….”

 

**_FINIS_ **

 

**_A/N:_ ** _Since the original incarnation of this story, certain aspects of it have evolved and changed.  Originally, my Female Cousland Warden was to get Marianne’s blades and Leliana to get the bow.  Since that original writing, however, the muses decided they wanted to change things up a little differently.  I have tried to adjust this tale to fit those changes._

**_We Do What Must Be Done_ ** _was originally created to fit any Cousland/Warden background.  Most of my stories are with female wardens, but a few are male.  It will work for either of them.  It isn’t specific to any particular one of my creation, but meant to fit any/all of them.  However, since writing Bryallyn Cousland’s story, **Ever Constant** , the muses insisted on a shift (which thus precipitated the changes in headcanon).  At some point I may go back and reflect those changes in that story, but not for now.  Instead, I will focus on reflecting them in the sequels to **Ever Constant** , beginning with Kaytaryn DesMarais’ and Fergus Cousland’s story, **The Fox and the Hound**.  Keep an eye out for that one, especially if you’ve taken interest in Kayt’s (and Marianne’s) story because there will be more development of their history and background!  _

_In the meantime, thank you all for taking the time to read!  I hope you’ve enjoyed this story and will come back for more!_

 


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